Beginnings
by gabrielsgirl
Summary: This is going to be a bunch of little fics about what happens to each of the characters before the movie & series. Ian's story is finished!
1. An Angel's Beginning

"An Angel's Beginning"

  
  


The young boy was engrossed in a book when his father's voice came floating up the stairs. He didn't hear him until he called again, louder this time. "Gabriel, come down here. It's time to eat."

His brown eyes blinked as he was jerked from his trance. He sighed, closed the book, and pushed his chair back. Walking slowly out of the room and down the stairs, he thought about what he had just read. The aroma of cooked meat and potatoes drifted up to him. He breathed in deeply through his nose. The scent caused his stomach to rumble, and he forgot about the book for the moment.

When he walked into the dining room, his parents were sitting at the table, and there was a plate sitting at his place at the table. Gabriel pulled his chair out and dropped into it. He started to shovel the food into his mouth realizing for the first time how hungry he was. He stopped with the fork halfway between his plate and mouth noticing that the two adults were just looking at him and not eating. 

Lowering the fork back down to his plate, he looked up at them. His dad cleared his throat before speaking. "Gabriel, I had a conference with your teacher today."

He nodded his head waiting for him to continue. 

"She told me that you aren't participating in class at all or socializing with the other kids. Only Sly Marcus and Amie Trasten."

"They're my friends."

"What about the other kids?"

Gabriel just shrugged his shoulders looking down at his plate.

"Your teacher said you don't talk to them at all."

"They don't talk to me!" The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I would talk to them, but none of them like me."

"I'm sure that's not true," his mother said trying to comfort him.

His gaze had returned to his plate, but he looked back up now. His eyes were filled with pain. "Yes, it is. They tell me I'm weird."

"Your teacher said you talk to her after class. She thinks you're very smart, so she doesn't understand why you don't speak up in class."

Gabriel didn't look up from his plate when he answered. "They already make fun of me enough. They all think I'm a know-it-all. I don't mean to be that way."

He finished eating his dinner in silence. His parents exchanged concerned glances with each other, but he didn't notice; he was too busy concentrating on his plate. When he had finished, Gabriel asked to be excused. His father nodded, and the young boy slid his chair away from the table. 

He made his way up the stairs deep in thought. He was only eleven years old, but sometimes he felt several years older. Once in his room, he sat at the desk and opened his book again. The title of it was Mysteries of the Ancient Ones. It had everything, or at least everything that anyone knew, about the Anasazis in it. The page he had opened to had a picture of a necklace. He had to squint to make it out. There was a sun caught in a web hanging from a leather string. He looked at the caption under the picture and started reading it out loud.

"The above necklace was worn by Anasazi ritual performers. It was believed that only these men could wear it. If anyone else put it on, it was believed that their soul would blacken and turn evil."

Gabriel's eyes widened with interest. He found the paragraph that talked about the necklace and read more about it. He didn't hear his dad when he knocked on the door. The sound of the door opening brought him out of his trance-like state. His head spun around, and when he saw his dad, a sheepish grin spread across his face. "Sorry, Dad. Didn't hear you."

Peter Bowman smiled at his son. "Must be a good book."

Gabriel nodded his head. "Very interesting."

His father sat down on the bed and cleared his throat. Gabriel's eyes sharpened knowing he was about to say something. Before he could, the young boy said, "Don't worry about it, Dad. I know what you're gonna say. They're just jealous, just ignore them. It doesn't work, but don't worry about it."

Peter put his hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. "You're older than your years, son. And sometimes I wish you weren't. But you'll be fine. I'm sure of that."

Gabriel smiled at his dad, but didn't know what to say in reply. Peter released his shoulder and said, "Amie's downstairs."

A wide grin spread across his face, and he ran his fingers quickly through his hair. Then, he nearly flew past his father and down the stairs. As soon as he reached the bottom, he slowed down and calmly walked to the front door. He opened it and slipped outside. 

Amie was standing on the porch. She was four inches taller than his 4 feet, 9 inches. It didn't look like she had brushed her brown hair, but he knew she had. It didn't matter if she did anything with it, because it never stayed in place. Her brown eyes were shining happily; the way they always were. She couldn't hide her emotions because of them. After three months of school, her tan was beginning to fade.

"Hello, Amie. How are you?"

"Good. What did Mrs. Sheridan say about you?"

"I don't talk enough, and I'm antisocial."

Amie giggled. "My parents said she told them the same thing about me."

Gabriel ran his fingers unconsciously through his hair. "Wonder what she said about Sly."

"Want to go see him?"

He nodded his head. "Hold on. Let me make sure I can." He stepped back through the door and found his parents in the living room. He cleared his throat, and when they looked at him, he asked, "Dad, can I go to see Sly?"

Peter glanced down at his watch, then back up at his son. "Sure, but don't stay long. It's going to be dark in about an hour. Be home before that."

"I will," he replied before dashing out the door. Once they arrived at their friend's house, Gabriel knocked on the door. Sly's mother answered, and the young boy asked her, "Is Sly here?"

She smiled at them and nodded her head. "He's back in his room. Come on in."

They walked down the hallway to their friend's bedroom. He let them in then closed the door again. Amie sat on the bed, and Gabriel walked over to the desk and looked at the paper laying on it. Picking it up, he turned to Sly. "This is really good, man."

"Thanks, Gabe. I started it this morning."

Amie shook her head. "I'm always writing, Gabe's always reading about the ancient and mysterious, and you're always drawing. We make a perfect team."

The three of them grinned. Then Gabriel asked, "What did Mrs. Sheridan say about you?"

"I don't talk enough and draw too much. She thinks I should be more social."

Amie giggled. "She thinks the same thing about us."

They talked for another ten minutes, then Gabriel said, "I need to go. Have to be home before dark."

"Okay, Gabe," Sly said. "See you in school Monday."

Gabriel and Amie walked outside saying good bye to Sly's mother on their way out the door. He walked with Amie to her house. Once she had closed the door behind her, he turned around and walked home.

*******

The three friends were sitting at a picnic table on the school playground after lunch. Gabriel had his book open; Sly was sketching a drawing, and Amie was working on a story. The two boys were sitting on one side of the table with Amie across from them. They all heard the footsteps as two boys came up to the table. 

Gabriel's head jerked up, and his eyes narrowed as he recognized them. Matt and Dale Nolan were twins. They were also bullies. They had dark blond hair and green eyes that always had a mean look in them. Amie shrunk away from the larger one, Dale, as he came closer. These two never seemed to leave her alone. He grabbed her notebook from the table and started flipping through it. 

"Give that back to me," she demanded with more force than she felt. 

He ripped out a page, crushed it into a ball, and dropped it on the ground. Gabriel stood up and walked slowly around the table; the rage was rising in him. When he reached Dale, he grabbed his arm and said, "She told you to give it back, now give it back."

Dale's other arm came around and hit Gabriel in the stomach. He doubled over in pain and let go of the arm. Then, a fist smashed against his nose. He was stunned for a second until the rage took over. One fist caught Dale over the eye, and the next one hit him in the chin. Dale stumbled back and tripped over Sly's outstretched leg. Matt stepped forward and he hit Gabriel in the nose again. 

His hands went to his nose and the other boy hit him in the stomach sending Gabriel to the ground. A second later he was getting to his feet. Before either of them could land any more blows, a teacher was separating them. "How many times do I have to tell you two to stop picking fights?" It was a rhetorical question, so he didn't expect an answer. He didn't get one.

While Matt stared at the ground, Dale glared around the teacher at Gabriel. He met the other boy's glare with on of his own. Turning to him, the teacher said, "Gabriel, go to the nurse and have her clean you up. Then, go to the office. You two," he said to the other boys, "get there now. Mr. Farrell can decide what to do with you."

With a glance at his two friends, Gabriel started up to the school. Blood was running from his nose, and his stomach hurt from the blows he had taken there. Once the nurse had stopped the bleeding, she washed the dried blood from under his nose. Then, he walked to the office. He had to wait outside until the principal called him in. 

Dale and Matt brushed past him as they left the office. He walked inside and sat in a chair across the desk from Mr. Farrell. "What happened, Gabriel? They told me," he said waving at the closed door, "that you started it. But I can't believe that you would provoke them."

"I didn't, sir."

"Then what happened?"

"They were picking on Amie. They wouldn't leave her alone."

"You should have told the teacher on duty."

"I know, sir. I'm sorry."

"From now on if they bother you, tell a teacher. Don't get into a fight."

"I won't, sir."

"I still have to call your parents, you know."

"Yes, sir," Gabriel replied softly.

The principal looked at him with sympathy. When he spoke, his voice was firm, but kind. "That's all. Get to class."

*******When Gabriel got home after school, his parents were waiting for him in the living room. Both of them looked incredibly upset. With his head bent, he stood in front of them. "Sit down," his father said. 

He let his book bag slip from his back, then sank into a chair keeping his eyes on the floor. He chanced a look up at his father's face. He could see a combination of anger and sadness in it. Not able to stand to see the look of disappointment there as well, his gaze returned to the floor. 

"I got a call from your principal today. He said that you got into a fight at recess. Gabriel, look at me."

The young boy forced his head up. He was doing his best to keep the tears back. He didn't want his dad to be mad at him, and he didn't want him to see him cry like a baby. He also didn't know how to fix things. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Why did you get into a fight with these boys? You don't usually do things like that."

"They were picking on Amie."

"And for this you picked a fight?" Peter interrupted. 

"She's my friend! I couldn't let them do that," he replied trying to make his father understand.

The pain in his son's voice made it even harder for punishing him for something the boy thought he had done for the right reasons. "You're grounded. You will come home right after school every day for the next two weeks. You will not go to Sly's or Amie's house for that same amount of time. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Good. Now, go up to your room until supper is ready."

Gabriel picked up his book bag and dragged his feet up the stairs to his room. He closed the door behind him and sank onto his bed. Large teardrops rolled down his cheeks. He wished his dad could understand why he felt he'd had to fight. But he didn't, and Gabriel knew he never would. 

He wiped the wetness from his face. For the next hour, he just stared across the room at the wall. Then, his mother called him down to dinner. It was eaten in silence, and when he had finished, Gabriel went back up to his room to do his homework.

A half hour later he heard his door open, but didn't look around. He recognized his father's footstep as he walked across the room. His hand came down lightly on Gabriel's shoulder letting him know that everything was okay. They stayed that way for a minute, then he withdrew his hand and left the room without saying a word.

*******

The next day Gabriel was walking home after school. He was afraid that Sly and Amie thought he was mad at them because he wouldn't walk home with them after school like he usually did. That morning he hadn't said anything more than hello to them. They had tried to cheer him up, but nothing would make him smile. If anything, it made him feel worse. He was dwelling on this and kicking a rock in front of him on the way home.

With his mind occupied, he didn't notice the boy's stepping in front of him until they were blocking his way. Gabriel looked at them sharply and demanded, "Get out of my way. I have to get home."

"I don't care," Dale Nolan replied. "Because of you, we were suspended. You're gonna pay for that."

"It's not my fault. I'm not the one pushing other kids around so I can feel good about myself."

Matt slipped around behind him and grabbed Gabriel's arms. Dale hit him in the stomach several times, then started in on his face. Finally he stopped, and Matt let go of his arms. His knees gave out on him causing him to fall to the ground. They sent a couple of boots to his ribs before running off as someone came out and yelled at them.

The old man walked over to where Gabriel was laying curled up in a ball. He helped the young boy to his feet just as he started to vomit. When he had finished, the man got him into the house. He sat him down in a chair, then washed the blood from his face. Gabriel just kept saying, "I have to go. I have to get home."

Finally the man asked him what his phone number was. Then, he called Gabriel's parents. While they were waiting for them to come pick him up, the old man felt along each of his patient's ribs, but didn't think anything was broken. "Probably just bruised," he muttered to himself.

There was a cut above Gabriel's left eye, and there was no doubt that his right one would be swollen in only a short time. There was also a cut on his right cheekbone. His jaw was mottled purple and yellow. Blood was still flowing from his nose, and his lip was split. 

Ten minutes later his parents arrived. His mother wrapped her arms around him and wouldn't stop asking if he was all right. He assured her that he was, but she wouldn't listen to him. Peter tried to help him out to the car, but he didn't want any help. He made it out to the car before a wave of nausea washed over him. It left him feeling weak, and his legs started to fold under him. His father rushed over to him and helped him into the car. Turning back to the man, he said, "Thank you. I'm sorry about the mess."

"It's not a problem. I'm glad I could help."

When they got home, his father helped Gabriel into bed. His mother insisted on fussing over him in spite of his arguments. Finally they left him alone, and he pushed himself up in bed. It sent a spear of pain through his ribs, but he just clenched his teeth until it passed. Then, he pulled his math book out of his bag and started his homework. 

The next day his parents wouldn't let him go to school. He had to stay in bed all day. His mother brought all of his meals up to him. By the time the sun was going down, he was getting very restless. He swung his feet to the floor and slowly stood up. Then, he walked out of the room and to the top of the stairs. When he got there, his head was spinning out of control. He thought he was going to fall down the stairs, so he turned around and slowly made his way back to his room.

The day after that he was back in school. At lunch, Amie sat across from him and said, "They're gone."

Gabriel's mind was still working slowly from the blows he had taken. "What?"

"The Nolan twins. They were transferred to another school."

It took as second for what she had said to sink in, then he let out a sigh of relief. "Good," was all he said before finishing his lunch.


	2. Teen Angel

Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. Haven't been able to type because our computer was being fixed. I'll try to get chapter 3 up sooner.

"Teen Angel"  
  


Gabriel was slipping into his tuxedo jacket when there was a knock on his bedroom door. He turned around and saw his dad standing there. He grinned at him nervously. 

"You almost ready?" Peter asked him. "Amie's here."

He looked around for his shoes. After finding them and slipping them on, he nodded his head. He followed his father down the stairs and into the living room. Amie and his mother were standing together with their backs to the doorway.

Amie turned around when she heard their footsteps stop. Gabriel started to say something but his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't believe that this young woman was really his tomboy friend. It had taken quite a bit of urging to even get her to go to their junior prom with him. Finally both of their mothers had managed to talk her into going. It had taken some convincing to get him to go as well. Now he was glad that they had. 

Her bangs were curled under. The sides and about half of the back were pulled up and held in place with bobby pins. The rest of the back was curled under. It hung to her shoulders. She had light blue eyeshadow on and only a small amount of blush. 

Her dress was light blue at the top and darkened as it went down. There was a glittered flower patter on it, and thin straps went over her shoulders. It only came halfway up her back.

Gabriel opened his mouth and closed it again several time, but no words came out of it. He finally found his voice again and said, "Amie, you look beautiful."

She shook her head in disagreement. "I look weird. I don't belong in a dress."

"You look fine, Amie," Gabriel's mom assured her. 

As they started toward the door, his mother stopped him with a light touch on his shoulder. He turned back to her, and she laid a gentle kiss on his cheek. "You look quite handsome, Gabriel. Now, go and have fun tonight."

They walked out to the car, and he opened the door for her. She got in awkwardly, not accustomed to the dress yet. He climbed in on the other side and drove to the restaurant. There they met Sly and his date, Trish Keely. After the four of them had finished eating, they piled into Gabriel's car and headed for the hotel where the dance was being held. Several couples were already there. 

The music could be heard as they walked inside. The room was elaborately decorated. Streamers hung from the ceiling. No one was dancing yet. Everyone was standing in groups talking. When the next song started playing, a few couples headed out onto the dance floor. Gabriel took Amie's arm and led her onto it. They danced to the next couple of songs, then decided to take a break. 

They had just reached the edge of the floor when Amie felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She jerked her body away and spun around to face the guy. She recognized him from school, but couldn't remember his name. He reeked of alcohol, and her nose wrinkled up at the smell of it. He grabbed her arms and started to pull her away from Gabriel.

It didn't take him long to realize what was happening. When he did, he started to push the other boy away from his date. He released Amie's arms and focused his attention on Gabriel.

Patrick Fairbanks was a large seventeen year old. He had light brown hair and green eyes. He was the star football player of the school. His arms and shoulders were packed with muscle. There was always a sneer on his face. "It's my turn to dance with her," he said with a taunting smile. 

"No, it's not. She's with me, and you're drunk."

Patrick pushed Gabriel to the floor. He hit it hard on his back, and his breath was knocked out of him. It took several seconds for him to recover it, then he pushed himself to his feet. The larger boy stepped forward and sent two punches into Gabriel's stomach. He doubled over in pain and before he could straighten up, a fist to his chin sent him sailing to the floor. Two chaperones came over and grabbed Patrick's arms dragging him out of the building. 

Sly ran over to Gabriel and helped him to his feet. "You okay, Gabe?"

He silently nodded his head, still dazed. Amie helped him to his feet and over to the side of the room. His face had gone white. After a minute, he pushed himself away from the wall and walked out the door. Gabriel staggered down the hall. He had only made it half of the way to the bathrooms when the wave of nausea hit him. Once he had finished vomiting, he sank to a sitting position against the wall. He closed his eyes, and his head fell to his knees. 

Severaal minutes later he heard footsteps approaching. Raising his head, he opened his eyes and looked to see who it was. Amie stopped and looked down at him. "Are you okay?" She asked, concerned. 

There was a wry smile on his face when he shook his head. "Far from it. Can you help me up?" He asked holding his hand out to her. 

When he was on his feet again, she asked him, "Do you want to go home now? It really wouldn't bother me if we left."

"Let me find Sly. We have to take him to get his car, so we can't leave without him."

Just them he saw Trish and Sly walking toward them. They had been looking for him. "Let's get out of here," Sly suggested. 

"All right," Gabriel replied. 

They retrieved their coats and started outside. Sly promised to be right out. First he wanted to say goodbye to a few people. The rest of them walked out of the building. The three of them were almost to Gabriel's car when someone stepped out of the shadows. Gabriel recognized him as Patrick Fairbanks. 

"What do you want?" He demanded. "Why are you still here?"

"I still want that dance with her," he replied with a nod to her.

"Well, you won't get it. Now, get out of our way." He was almost shouting. His temper was getting the best of him. Patrick just laughed at him. It held no amusement and sent a chill down Gabriel's spine, but he was angry now and wasn't planning on backing down. He stepped forward, but in a warning voice, Amie said his name. His head involuntarily turned toward her, and he didn't see the fist until it was too late. He hit the ground on his shoulder holding back a cry of pain. 

He got slowly to his feet and stepped forward again. Two more people came out of the shadows and grabbed his arms. Patrick hit him in the nose, then he jabbed him in the mouth. He hit him in the mouth again splitting his bottom lip. He moved down to Gabriel's stomach and sent several punches there until he could hear the sound of cracking ribs. He motioned to his friends, and they let Gabriel fall to the ground. 

Amie started forward, but he motioned for her to stay back. He got to his knees before a kick in his ribs laid him flat on his stomach. He was assaulted with several more kicks. Then the three boys stepped back and waited for him to try to get up again. He disappointed them though. Groaning in pain, he brought his knees up to his chest to protect his stomach from any more blows. 

Seeing that their fun was just about over, the two other boys strode away, laughing. Patrick grabbed Amie's arm and pulled her toward his car. She tried to get away, but he was too strong. He got her into the car and drove off heading to a place where they would have some privacy.

Gabriel raised his head just in time to see the car speeding away. He let it fall back to the ground. Then he felt hands grabbing and lifting him to his feet. He didn't remember much, but he must have passed out sometime after that because the next thing he knew, he was laying in a bed. He looked around and saw his parents sitting across the room. "Mom, Dad," he said weakly.

Peter stood up and quickly walked over to his son's side. "What happened?" Gabriel asked.

"Your ribs were cracked, but there was little damage otherwise."

He shook his head slowly. "What happened to Amie?"

Peter swallowed slowly and wouldn't meet his son's eyes. "She's dead, Gabriel," he managed to get out. 

He refused to believe it. "No, she can't be. She just can't be."

"I'm sorry, Gabriel." Peter didn't know how to comfort his son.

He walked over to the door, and his wife followed him out of the room. The only thing they could do was give him time to grieve. 

*******

The police had found her body in an open field. The skirt of her dress had been ripped off. The back of her head was covered with blood. She had been raped before he slammed her head against the ground. They knew she had fought back because she had bruises all over her body and there was skin under her fingernails. 

Gabriel left the hospital the next day. He locked himself in his room for three days. During that time he didn't eat anything or talk to anyone. He didn't come out until the day of Amie's funeral. His parents' hearts broke at the sight of him.

His face was pale, and his eyes looked like they were on fire. His hair had not seen a brush since the night of the prom. The shirt he was wearing was extremely wrinkled. His body smelled sweaty and unwashed.

Getting into the shower, he just let the water fall on his head and shoulders. After awhile, he heard a loud knock on the door. "Gabriel, are you almost done?" His father asked from the other side of it. "You've been in there for more than half an hour."

"Yeah, I'm coming," he answered turning off the water. Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed a towel. Moving like a robot, he dried off and got dressed. His father had laid out an outfit for him; a pair of black pants and a dark grey shirt. Once he had put them on, he brushed his hair and walked out of his room.

He didn't say one word on the ride to the church, just stared out the window. His face was completely empty of any expression, but inside his emotions were battling each other. Anger and grief finally came out victorious. Ever since Amie had been killed, Gabriel had blamed himself for her death. She was his date, and he felt that he should have been able to protect her. He always forced out the thought that he had done all he could do.

Peter stopped the car in front of the church, and they walked inside in silence. When the service was over, everyone filed past the casket. Gabriel placed a rose under her folded hands. The sight of her lifeless face made tears well up in his eyes. He looked down at her and let the tears slide down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Amie. I tried to stop him. I should have protected you, but I didn't."

His mom put her arm around his shoulders, and they continued walking. He stood silent as they lowered her into the ground half an hour later. Then they drove home. No one said a thing the whole time. When they were back at the house, Gabriel shut himself in his room again. An hour later his dad knocked on the door. "Gabriel, please come out. You can't stay in there forever. And you can't blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done."

"I could have protected her better," he said to himself. 

Once he realized nothing he could say would bring his son out of his room, he left. Gabriel turned his computer on, but looking for information didn't ease the pain he was feeling. He changed into a baggy t-shirt and jeans, then laid down on his bed. He couldn't sleep though. He hadn't gotten even a minute of peaceful sleep since he had returned home from the hospital. If he was actually able to sleep, he was plagued by nightmares. Finally, he gave it up as useless and stared at the ceiling.

*******

For the last two weeks of school, Gabriel went through his classed like he wasn't even there. His grades began to slip, and he didn't talk to anybody. Sly went through a similar transformation. His grades had never been as good as his friend's, but they began to get even worse. His drawings began to get darker and more macabre. 

When Gabriel arrived home after the last day of school, his parents were waiting for him. "They got him," Peter said with satisfaction. Patrick Fairbanks had never returned to school after prom night. The police had been searching for him. 

After a moment the shock wore off, and he said, "Thank God."

His parents wrapped their arms around him. "He'll get his justice," his mom said. 

"I know, Mom."

He started to walk to his room, then changed his mind and walked outside. It took him twenty minutes to get to the cemetery and find Amie's grave. He sank to his knees and bent his head. He remained in that position in silence for half an hour then got to his feet and started home.

*******

"He got life without chance of parole," Peter told his son when he got back from the courthouse.

"Good."

Gabriel was still withdrawn, but he was starting to come out of his room more. It was the last day of summer vacation before his senior year. As soon as he picked Sly up, they were going to go for pizza. He grabbed his coat and walked out to the car. 


	3. Departure

"Departure"

  
  


"Are you nervous?" Peter asked his son.

"Never," Gabriel replied with an outer confidence he didn't feel. It didn't fool his father though. 

"You'll be fine."

Gabriel smiled at him and said, "Thanks, Dad." His parents walked into the auditorium leaving him alone with the rest of his graduating classmates. He had finished third in his class of ninety-six. It should be ninety-seven, he thought to himself.

One by one, the seniors walked into the auditorium, down the aisle, and onto the stage. There was an empty seat where Amie would have sat. Gabriel looked over at it and thought he saw her sitting there. He blinked, and the image was gone. Shaking his head slightly, he turned his attention to the valedictorian's speech. Once the speeches were over, the graduates and the guests headed over to the gym for pictures and refreshments. 

"Do you ever leave your camera at home, mom?" Gabriel teased her.

"Not on a special day like this."

"You're just glad you'll finally be rid of me."

Peter chuckled and shook his head. Then, in a half-joking voice he said, "But you'll never be rid of us."

Gabriel groaned, but couldn't hold back a laugh. After smiling for what seemed to be an eternity of flashing cameras, everyone started to leave. Gabriel's parents were taking him and Sly out to dinner. When they stepped outside, Gabriel said, "I'll meet you at the restaurant. There's someone I need to talk to first."

They just nodded their heads knowing who that someone was. He still wasn't completely over her death after more than a year, and he still partially blamed himself for it. His parents walked to their car, but Sly stayed there.

"Sly, go with them."

"Come on, man. Her death killed me too. But I'm not still dwelling on it. Stop doing this to yourself."

"The hell you aren't, Sly. You're thinking about her just as often as me. You just don't let anyone know it."

"I've dealt with it," he said not looking at Gabriel.

"No, you haven't." They were close to screaming at each other by this point. "Your way of dealing is by taking drugs, driving fast cars, and partying. Anything you can do to try to forget. But it's not working, so why do you keep it up?"

Sly just stared at his friend. He wasn't quite sure what to say. He finally said in a quiet voice, "Because I don't know any other way."

"Go with my parents," Gabriel said softly. "I'll catch up."

He hesitated, then headed over to where Peter stood waiting for him. Once they were gone, Gabriel got into his car and drove off. He pulled up at the cemetery gates, picked a rose up off of the passenger's seat, and walked to her grave. When he got there, he sank to his knees and placed the flower against the headstone.

There was so much he wanted to say, but couldn't make the words come out. After five minutes, he put his hand on the headstone, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He brushed it away and walked to his car. 

When he arrived at the restaurant, his parents and Sly were waiting outside for him. They ate dinner without speaking, then Gabriel took Sly home. They rode there in an uncomfortable silence. He dropped him off, then drove to his house. 

*******

"The three of us always go to see the Fourth of July fireworks together though, Gabriel. And this is the last time you'll be here for them, so you have to come."

"But Dad, I still have to finish packing. Me and Sly are leaving early tomorrow. By noon at least." He knew his friend would not be ready to go much before that.

"You'll still have time," his father insisted.

"Fine," he replied, surrendering finally.

Peter smiled at him, and Gabriel went to get ready. Half an hour later they left for the fairgrounds where the annual fireworks were being set off. After finding a place to sit, they waited for them to start. 

It had been an incredibly hot day, so the slight breeze blowing across his warm skin felt good to him. Three small children were chasing each other around their parents. They were running barefoot in the grass. In the distance, Gabriel could hear someone singing. 

It was almost completely dark when the fireworks display began. Flashes of red, green, blue, purple, and white flashed in the sky. It was a beautiful sight, and Gabriel decided that he was glad he had come. After the grand finale, the three of them climbed into the car and headed home. When they got there, Gabriel went to his room to finish packing his stuff. 

After graduation, he and Sly had decided that they were going to move to New York City sometime during the summer. His parents weren't thrilled with this idea. Gabriel was their only son, and they didn't want him to move too far away. It would only be an hour drive though, so they weren't going to oppose it.

By the time he had finished, his parents were already in bed. After checking the messages on his computer, he turned it off, shut off the light, and slipped into bed.

*******

In the morning, Gabriel unplugged his computer and packed it into a box for the move. Then, he walked out to the kitchen. His parents had finished eating breakfast over an hour ago, but they were still sitting at the table. After making a cup of coffee, he pulled out a chair and sank into it.

Peter cleared his throat before saying, "We need to talk to you about something, Gabriel."

"What is it?" He asked, curious at the stressed note in his father's voice.

He didn't seem to know hot to say what he felt he needed to tell his son. "Well," he started, then lost the words.

His wife looked at him sympathetically. Then, she turned to their son. "Gabriel, you were adopted."

"What?" He thought he had heard her wrong.

"We adopted you."

He tried to form words but was too shocked to speak. Finally he managed to ask, "Why are you telling me this now? Why not earlier?"

"We wanted to wait until you were old enough to decide for yourself what you wanted to do," Peter told him. 

"What do you mean 'what I wanted to do.'?" He was still trying to absorb what he had just learned. "We wanted to leave it up to you whether or not you tried to find your real parents."

"You are my real parents. I don't care about someone who didn't want me. Do you really think they've changed their minds eighteen years later? You two raised me. You're my parents."

During his little speech, Gabriel had been leaning forward over the table. Now he relaxed back in the chair. His parents exchanged a glance then turned their attention back to their son. "We just wanted to tell you so you could make the decision." 

"Thanks," he said with a sarcastic note. His mind was still trying to take in the news. He wasn't sure how to react to it.

"Do you want to start putting your stuff in the car?" Peter asked trying to change the subject.

Gabriel nodded his head, stood up, and walked down the hallway and up the stairs to his room. He carried a box of clothes out to his car while his dad brought out a box of his books. Five minutes later they had everything packed in the car. They returned to the kitchen, and Gabriel's mother stood up and embraced him. "Don't forget to call when you get there."

He grinned at her and said, "I won't, Mom."

"I'm going to miss you. You'd better keep in touch."

"I will, Mom. Don't worry."

He turned to his dad and took his hand. Peter said, "We wish you weren't leaving, but I know why you feel you have to. I want to wish you luck. Even though I know you'll be fine without it."

"Thanks, Dad. I'd better get going before Sly wonders where I am."

"Goodbye, Gabriel."

"Bye. I'll talk to you when we get there."

He walked out to his car and started it. Then, Gabriel drove to Sly's house. They got his stuff in the car, then pulled away from his house and headed out of town.

"Your parents make a big deal about this move?" Sly asked.

He decided not to tell his friend what they had told him that morning. "Not really. They don't like it, but my dad understands at least."

"Your mom cry when you were leaving?"

"Probably waited 'til I left."

"I think mine were glad to be rid of me. They practically pushed me out the door."

Gabriel just shook his head knowing his friend was exaggerating. There was sparse and intermittent conversation for the rest of the trip. When they arrived, he drove slowly down the streets looking for the apartment building where they would be living. When they finally found it, the landlord was waiting outside for them. He nodded at them and said, "You'll be Gabriel Bowman and Sly Marcus?"

"Yeah," Gabriel replied. 

They followed him into the building and up the stairs. The landlord stopped in front of a door with the number 111 on it. He opened it, and they stepped inside. They were standing in the living room with the kitchen off to their left. There were four doors on the other side of the living room. One was a closet, two opened into bedrooms, and the other one was a bathroom. Directly across from where they stood was a window. Outside of it was the fire escape.

Before he left, the landlord placed two sets of keys on the counter. "There's a set there for both of you. And here's my number if you need anything," he said handing a piece of paper to Gabriel.

Once he left, they walked back out to the car and started carrying the boxes inside. The first thing Gabriel brought up was his computer. He hooked it up in the room farthest from the door before going back down for the rest of his boxes. He put them in the same room. When he had finished unpacking his clothes, he started on the boxes of books. 

He was putting a bunch of them on a shelf when one slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor. A piece of paper fell from it, and he bent down to pick it up off of the floor. Unfolding it, he saw a picture of the Anasazi necklace he had read about when he was younger. Underneath the picture was an e-mail address and phone number of the person who had owned it five years before. "Wonder if he still has it?" He asked himself out loud. 

"Who still has what?" Sly asked, poking his head into the room. 

"Oh, nothing," Gabriel replied quickly.

His friend shrugged and said, "Okay. I'm gonna go out for a bit and see what trouble I can find."

He nodded. "Whatever. See you tomorrow, then."

When Sly was gone, Gabriel turned on his computer. Bringing up his e-mail, he sent a quick message to the owner of the necklace asking if he still had it and if not, did he know who did. Then, he signed off and finished unpacking.

In the morning, he rolled out of bed and made his way into the kitchen. After making a cup of coffee, he sat down at the table. He had just finished drinking it when Sly stepped out of his room. "Got any more coffee?" He asked as a yawn escaped from his mouth. "Yeah. There's still some in the pot."

Sly poured some of it into a cup, then sank into a chair across from his friend. 

"Rough night?" Gabriel asked, noticing Sly's disheveled look.

"Yeah. Rather not talk about it though."

He shrugged. "Whatever."

Sly finished his coffee, then started another pot. Gabriel took his cup to the sink, then walked into his room and turned on his computer wanting to see if he had received a reply from the man he had contacted the night before. When he brought up his e-mail, there was a message for him. A smile spread quickly across his face. The message read:

  
  


Mister Bowman,

I do still have the article you request in my possession. Feel free to call me to discuss an agreement.

Kenneth Irons

  
  


After reading it, he closed the window and picked up the phone. Then, a thought struck him. "How'd he know I had his number?" He asked aloud. 

"What are you talking about, man?" Sly was standing in the doorway. He was beginning to think his friend was getting even stranger day by day. 

"Ah, nothing important. I just need to call someone."

"All right, Gabe," he replied rolling his eyes at his friend's behavior.

He picked the piece of paper up from his desk and dialed the number written on it. A bland feminine voice answered after two rings. "Vorschlag Industries."

"I'd like to speak with Kenneth Irons, please," Gabriel told her trying to sound as professional as he could. 

"Hold on a moment, sir." With that, she put him on hold.

After about a five minute wait, a smooth male voice came over the line. "Mister Bowman."

"How did you know?" He asked, confused.

"Does it really matter?"

"Ah, no. I guess not."

"You were calling to discuss our agreement."

Thinking this was a question, he replied, "Yeah." He was still trying to figure out how he had known it was him calling. 

"Why don't you come here so we can discuss this transaction face to face."

"Why did I have to call you then?" He asked, and was answered with silence.

He hung up the phone and shook his head. Walking out of his room, he told Sly, "I've gotta go out to see someone. I'll be back later."

"Have fun," Sly said snorting with amusement. He thought his friend was going to see a girl.

Gabriel just shook his head at his friend, then walked out the door.

*******

It didn't take him long to find Vorschlag Industries. Walking inside, he found himself in a large lobby. He strode over to a woman who was sitting behind a desk. "I'm here to see Kenneth Irons."

"Right down the hallway, sir. It's the door on the left."

"Thank you."

He started down the way she had indicated. Stopping at the first door on the left side of the hall, he hoped it was the right one. The woman hadn't told him what door on the left side. The door swung open before him. He took a deep breath, let it out again, and stepped into the room. A tall, white-haired man stood at the other side of the room with his back to the door. At the sound of Gabriel's footsteps, he slowly turned around. The young man thought his smile looked like a snake's. 

"Glad you came, Mister Bowman."

Gabriel wished he would stop doing that. It unnerved him, but he didn't let it show. "What else could I do? You didn't exactly tell me anything over the phone."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

Gabriel let out a frustrated sigh. "I came here to discuss a business deal. You know that."

"Of course. I'll have someone bring it by your place tomorrow."

"But," he started to protest, but was cut off by Irons' wave of dismissal. 

"There's nothing else for us to discuss. You may go now."

Gabriel's teeth clenched together trying to keep his anger under control. He hated when someone tried to make him feel inferior to them. He took a deep breath, and decided this wasn't the time or place for a confrontation with this man. Then, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

*******

The next morning Gabriel was brought out of his sleep by a knock on the door. He pulled on a pair of jeans and was buttoning them up before a second knock came. "Hold on. I'm coming," he yelled as he slipped into a shirt. He walked into the living room and over to the door. Opening it, he saw his landlord standing there. 

"Someone dropped this off for you this morning," he told his as he handed a box to Gabriel.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem," he said turning to leave.

Gabriel closed the door and walked to his bedroom. While his computer was starting up, he took the lid off of the box and lifted the necklace out of it. There were small turquoise stones in the web design. The sun was carved out of a white stone. He set it back in the box and turned to his computer. He was almost finished making a website when he realized he hadn't thought of a name for it yet. 

"What are you doing?" Sly's question came from behind him.

He turned around in his chair and smiled in greeting. "Just trying to think."

"I won't distract you then. I know how hard that is for you," he teased his friend.

"Ha ha. You think you're funny, don't you, Sly?"

"Yep." He grinned, then asked seriously, "What are you trying to think about?" 

"A name for this website I just started to make."

"What's it for?"

Gabriel took the necklace out of the box again and showed it to Sly. "So far this is all I have to put on it, but I'm hoping to get more. Talismans, artifacts, and the like."

His friend thought for a moment, then he said, "What about talisman.com?"

Gabriel rolled the idea around in his head for a moment, then though of something. "Talismaniac.com."

Sly nodded his head. "That sounds good."

Gabriel finished building the website. Then, he took the digital camera his parents had given him for his eighteenth birthday off of the desk and took a picture of the necklace to put up on the website. Once he had finished that task, he and Sly walked into the living room.

*******

Two months later Gabriel's business was rolling. He had gained access to many more artifacts. He was making a lot of money from the sale of these. One day while the two friends were sitting at the table drinking their morning cup of coffee, Gabriel looked up and said, "I should probably try to find someplace to keep this stuff. A warehouse or something."

Sly just nodded his head absently. He seemed to be distracted by something. 

"What's on your mind, Sly?" Gabriel asked, setting his cup down on the table. 

"Huh?" Sly shook his head and blinked a couple of times. "Oh, nothing."

"Don't tell me that. I can tell when you're thinking about something."

Sly nodded his head knowing his friend was right. He had never been able to hide anything from him. "I got a letter in the mail yesterday."

"From who?"

"Vorschlag Industries. They're offering me a scholarship type thing to draw."

"Sly, that's great. Did you accept?"

"Not yet. Wasn't sure if I should."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"You should."

He gave his friend a brief smile. "I'm sure you're right."

"Always am."

Gabriel finished drinking his coffee and stood up. "I'm gonna go buy a paper."

"You do that every morning. Why do you still announce it every time?"

He just grinned at Sly. Slipping his jacket on, he walked out into the hall. When he stepped out of the main doors, a blast of cold air hit him. He pulled his jacket tighter around him and walked down the street. After he bought a paper, Gabriel headed back to the apartment.

He took out the classifieds section of it and dropped the rest on the floor. Spreading the newspaper out on the table, he skimmed each column for any buildings that were for sale. He finally found one that sounded promising. "Sly, listen to this. 'One story. Two rooms. Front one is larger than back one. Needs no repairs. $1100. Call 734-5411."

"You gonna call them?"

"Yeah."

When he hung up the phone ten minutes later, he told Sly, "I'm going to take a look at the place. Sounds like it could be a good buy."

"See you later."

*******

An hour later Gabriel shook hands with the previous owners of the building. "I can pay you now," he told them.

"That'll be fine. We want to get this deal done so we can move soon."

He nodded his head. "Just let me get my checkbook out of my car."

After he handed them the check, they shook hands again. Then, he got in his car and drove home. When he got there, Sly wasn't around. Gabriel didn't think anything of it because he was always coming and going. He went into his bedroom and turned on his computer.

*******

Several months later Sly found a place of his own. Gabriel helped him move his stuff into it. When they had finished carrying everything inside, he took a look around. "This place is nice, man."

Sly smiled at him as he started to open a box. Gabriel spun around when he heard the door swing open behind him. A young man who looked to be only a few years older than them stood framed in the doorway. He took a step forward, and Gabriel could see him more clearly. He had dark blond hair and sharp, deep-set green eyes. His nose was pointed and the bones of his face were thin. His thin lips opened to say, "Hello, Sly."

"Hey there, Pike. This is Gabriel," he said pointing to his friend. "Gabe, this is Pike Donless, my partner in Parricide comics."

As soon as Gabriel took the other man's hand in his, he had a bad feeling about him. He didn't know what caused it, but for some reason he didn't trust this man. Turning to Sly, he said, "I should get going now. Talk to you later." He walked outside, climbed into his car, and drove back to his apartment.

*******

About a year later, Gabriel was in his kitchen when he heard a knock on the door. He opened it to see Sly standing there. "What are you doing here?"

"Have something to show you."

"Come on in."

He handed a newspaper to him as he walked past. "Look on page eleven. It should remind you of someone."

Gabriel quickly skimmed the article, then looked up at Sly. His eyes had a sad look in them. "She writes like Amie." Then, he looked at the name of the writer. "Renee Mackenzie."

"Thought you might want to see it."

"Mmhmm," Gabriel replied through pursed lips.

"I need to get going now."

He nodded and started to hand the newspaper back to his friend, but Sly just shook his head. "You can keep it."

"Thanks," he said in a voice that was almost a whisper.

"No problem, man."

After he had left, Gabriel sat on the couch and just started at the newspaper article. He thought that he had finally managed to get over Amie's death, but this brought back all the memories and emotions. "Guess I'll never forget you," he said out loud.

He dropped the paper onto the couch, then walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. When a voice greeted him on the other end of the line, he said, "Hello, Mom."

"Gabriel! It's so good to hear from you."

He let out a laugh. "Just talked to you last night, Mom."

"I know, but I still missed talking to you."

Almost an hour later, he finally managed to get him mom to stop talking so he could hang up. When he did, he started to make his dinner. He ate it and washed his plate. Then, he sank onto the couch and turned the television on. He wasn't paying any attention to the show that was on. Instead, he was thinking about Amie. After more than an hour, he fell asleep with thoughts of her still running through his head.

*******

"But Gabe, it's your twenty-first birthday. I can't celebrate it by myself."

"I'm sorry, but I can't go, Sly. I'm meeting with a new buyer today."

"That won't take all night."

"I certainly hope not."

"Then you can come later."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Then, it's settled. I should be there around nine tonight."

Sly left the shop, and Gabriel walked into the back room. Ten minutes later he heard a light tap on the front door. He opened it and let the man come inside. "You're Robert Foster?"

"Yes, I am."

He had brown eyes covered by glassed and his hair was straight and dark brown. 

"I have your head. It's in the back room. I'll be right back."

When he came back out, he was carrying a box. Inside of it was a skull. It was misshaped and covered with multiple colors. 

"Thank you," he said as he took the box and handed several large bills to him. Then, he turned and left. 

Gabriel finished up with what he was doing. Then, he went home to get ready to go out with Sly. When he was ready to go, he slipped his coat on and walked out the door.

He got to the club, but didn't see Sly there. "Must be early," he muttered to himself. 

Walking up the bar, he looked around at the other people there. The bartender walked up to him and asked, "What can I get for you?"

"Nothing yet. I'm just waiting for a friend."

The man shrugged and walked off to help another customer. Half an hour later Sly still hadn't shown up. He was starting to get worried, but decided to wait another fifteen minutes. He was about to give up and leave when he saw his friend walking toward him. 

"Where've you been? I've been waiting for almost forty-five minutes."

"Sorry. Had to go pick up something for you."

He hadn't seen Sly carry anything in. "Where is it?"

"Hold on," he said as he started to walk away. He returned a few minutes later followed by a young woman. She had red hair that flowed past her shoulders, and her green eyes stood out in her pale face. "This is Erin Silvers. Erin, this is Gabriel."

"Sly, why do you keep on doing this?"

"Come on, man. Just go sit down and talk to her. I'll get us some drinks."

He let out a frustrated sigh, but just shrugged. They found a table, and sat there in silence. She seemed to want to say something, but didn't open her mouth. "Say it."

"What?"

"Whatever it is you want to say."

She hesitated, then said, "You don't seem very happy with him."

He shook his head. "I just get tired of him doing this."

"Trying to set you up?"

"Yeah. He thinks he's doing me a favor, but." He just let the sentence trail off. 

She chuckled. "Meddling friends."

He joined in her laughter. 

"He's coming," she whispered. 

They sobered up, and Gabriel turned around to see his friend grinning at him. He just shook his head and rolled his eyes. Sly set the glassed down on the table and said, "Happy Birthday, Gabriel. Now, have some fun."

They downed the drinks and started talking and laughing. An hour later they got up to leave. Erin slipped a piece of paper into Gabriel's hand and said, "Call me sometime."

When he got home, he undressed and slipped into his bed. It only took him a minute to fall asleep.

*******

Gabriel slipped his jacket on and picked up the box with the head in it. It was green with white and black hair. He started outside and walked down the street. Ten minutes later he arrived at Robert Foster's apartment. Switching the box to his right arm, he opened the door. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


This is the end of Gabriel's story. It ends right before he shows up in "Diplopia". I will start Ian's soon and try to get it up as soon as I can.


	4. A Knight's beginning

"A Knight's Beginning"

  
  


"Ian, come in here."

Hearing the command, the young boy, who had been walking down the hall, turned and went into the room. He stopped in front of the older man sitting in the chair. "Sir," he addressed him.

"What do you want the most, Ian?"

"To fight, sir," he replied without a moment of hesitation.

"And what would you do to achieve this goal?"

"Anything honor will let me, sir." His hazel eyes remained fixed on the floor while he answered the questions.

"Very good, Ian. That is all that I wanted. You may go to your lessons now."

He left the study and continued down the hall. Walking into the room at the end of it, Ian saw one of his tutors standing beside his desk, waiting for him.

"You are late for your lesson."

"I am sorry, sir. Mister Irons wanted to speak with me."

The tutor nodded his head. "Now that you are here, we can get started."

*******

In his study, Kenneth Irons was contemplating his young charge. His answers had pleased the older man. Ian would soon be ready to be sent away to learn what it is that he was meant to be. "Not just yet though," Irons murmured to himself. 

He stood up and paced over to the fireplace. He stared into it with his hands linked behind his back. After awhile, he turned away from it and walked over to his chair.

*******

Ian was in his room later that day when he heard a light knock on his door. He walked over to it and opened it, and a young boy stepped inside. He was about the same age as Ian, but that's where the comparisons stopped. They were as different as night and day. While Ian's hair and skin were dark, this boy's were light. He had light blond hair and green eyes. Ian was a couple of inches taller than him as well.

Their differences weren't just physical. Ian rarely lost his temper, but the other boy often did. He also always acted like he was superior to Ian.

"You are not studying your lessons, Ian."

"You are not my tutor, Luke."

"I told him I would make sure you were doing as you were told."

"No," he replied calmly. "You are doing this on your own behalf."

Before Luke Matthews could come back with a reply of his own, a shadow was thrown across the room. The two younger boys looked up and saw Kenneth Irons standing in the doorway. "Luke, what are you doing in here? Shouldn't you be studying your own lessons?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then get to them."

"Yes, sir," he said walking past him out of the room.

"Ian, shouldn't you be studying your own lessons?"

"I am finished, sir."

"Good."

"Did you want something, sir."

"No."

Ian wondered why he had come if he hadn't wanted something, but he knew better than to question Mister Irons. The older man left the room without another word. 

*******

The next morning Ian went with his riding instructor to the stables. He walked to a stall where a young black Arabian stallion was sticking his head over the top of the lower door. He had a thin strip of white running down his head. He also had a small white sock on his left hind leg.

He was already tacked up, so Ian grabbed the reins and led him out of the stall. Once they got into the training arena, his instructor helped him into the saddle. He settled in the middle of the horse's back and took the reins in his hands once again.

"Just take him through his paces for now," the instructor told Ian.

He nodded, then lightly tapped the horse's sides with his heels starting him forward in a walk. They went smoothly into a trot, then to a canter, and finally a gallop. Then, they made their way back through them to a walk. Boy and horse came to a stop at the same spot where they had started. He looked at his trainer for further instructions.

"Now take him through the dressage movements."

Ian nodded, and they headed to the center of the arena. They started to go through the movements, but Ian's mind was not focused on the task. This had become routine to him, and he was bored with it. 

The stallion, Gypsy's Dragon, threw his head up and lifted his front hooves from the ground. Ian almost slid from the saddle, but grabbed a handful of his mane and stayed on his back. Once he had the stallion calmed down, the instructor stormed over to them.

"What was that about, Ian?" He nearly screamed the question.

"I am sorry, sir. My mind was elsewhere."

The stallion was prancing around and pulling on the reins. 

"Try it again. Keep your mind on what you are doing this time."

Ian turned his attention back to the horse. He asked him to move forward with his legs, but the stallion wouldn't behave. He would move the wrong way or not move at all. Finally, the instructor told him to stop.

"He's not going to cooperate now. Take him back to his stall, and we'll try again next time."

As soon as Ian was out of the arena, the trainer headed to the house.

*******

Ian walked Gypsy's Dragon around the yard outside of the stable to cool him off. Then, he led him back to his stall, untacked him, and brushed his sleek black coat. He was trying to find things to do to keep from having to go back up to the house knowing there would be trouble when he did. He had seen his instructor walking up to the house; he would be speaking to Irons now.

He put the brush away and slowly made his way up to the house. He would have to face him sometime. It might as well be now. When he got to the house, Ian tried to make it to his room without attracting attention, but it was useless. As he was slipping past Irons' study, he heard the older man call out, "Come in here, Ian."

His head lowered as he walked through the door. He kept his eyes on the floor, not wanting to see the anger he knew was in his master's face. 

"Your riding instructor came to speak with me. He said your skills are not improving. That you don't seem to be interested in what you are doing."

"It is just the same thing over and over again."

The slap came out of nowhere snapping his head around. "Do not interrupt me."

"Sorry, sir," he replied as tears sprang to his eyes. This wasn't the first time it had happened, but it still hurt.

"If you don't take more interest in your lessons, you will never improve. You can do better, and I will not tolerate this. Now, get to your room and study your lessons until it is time for lunch."

"Yes, sir," he replied nodding his head and backing out of the room. He hurried to his room and shut the door behind him.

*******

After eating lunch in strained silence, Ian went through his day the same as he always did. He made sure to stay focused on his lessons. They ate dinner in silence, then he went up to his room and awhile later went to sleep.

The next morning Ian walked downstairs and felt that something was different. The front door was standing open, so he crept over to it and peeked around the corner. Irons was standing on the porch looking down the drive. He turned his head when he heard the boy's footsteps. 

Ian's gaze went to the floor. "What is happening, sir?"

"Luke Matthews has left us, Ian."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"The priest that brought him here just came to take him away so he can learn his vocation. Just like you will one day, Ian."

The young boy's eyes lit up. "When will I learn to fight?"

"Soon, my boy. But not yet."

An hour later Ian headed to the stable. When he got to Gypsy's Dragon's stall, the stallion was tossing his head around. He let himself into the stall and tried to calm the horse, but it was no use. He finally gave it up and started to put his tack on. The horse wouldn't stand still for it though. He sidestepped as Ian tried to lift the saddle onto his back. It took him more than a half hour, but he was finally ready to go to the arena. 

He led Gypsy's Dragon to the entrance, then mounted. His instructor was waiting for them. "Let's get started."

Ian nodded his head and started to do as he told him. Gypsy's Dragon had other ideas, however. First, he reared up on his hind legs. Then, he took the bit in his teeth and raced across the arena, turning just in time to avoid hitting the wall. Ian couldn't pull him up or even slow him; all he could do was to hang on for the duration on the ride. 

Finally, the stallion tired himself out, and after several bucks, he stopped and stood still in the middle of the arena. His coat was white with sweat, and his sides were heaving from the exertion. Ian slid from the saddle as his instructor stormed over to them.

"What was that about?" He demanded to know.

"I don't know, sir."

Seeing that the boy was upset, he took a deep breath to calm down. "I will have to talk to Mister Irons about this. Take care of him."

"Please don't, sir."

"Just go take care of your horse."

Ian led the horse outside and walked him around the yard. Once he was cooled off, he led him back into the stable. An hour later he headed up to the house. As soon as the front door closed behind him, the young boy saw Irons step out of his study. His face was as calm as usual, but his eyes were livid. "Come in here, Ian," he ordered the boy.

He did as he was told and stood in the middle of the room. Irons slammed the door behind him as he entered the room. Pacing over to the window, he stared outside for more than a minute. This whole time Ian stood fidgeting in the center of the room.

The older man walked over to the fireplace and watched as a log fell, sending up sparks. Ian flinched as he saw a spark fall onto the floor. Irons quickly stepped on it. Then, he picked up one of the tools and scooped some hot embers from the fire. Walking over to Ian, he said, "Hold out your hands."

He hesitated, but after a moment he reluctantly did it. Irons dropped the hot coals into the boy's hands. He clenched his jaw, but showed no other outward sign of pain. The coals were burning his hands, and he wanted to drop them. He knew, however, that if he did, he would be punished even more.

After five minutes of this, the embers were cooling off. "You may drop them now."

Ian sighed as the hot objects left his hands. "It wasn't my fault, sir," he said in almost a whisper.

His head snapped around, and there was a red mark on his left cheek. 

"I did not ask if it was. Now be silent until I ask for you to speak."

"I am sorry, sir."

"I told you that you must stay focused on your lessons. And you couldn't even control the horse. What do you think I should do?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, I do. I will get rid of that horse. And you will concentrate on your other lessons."

"No, sir. You can't." His head had come up, and his eyes were filled with panic. The next blow sent it back to its former position. 

"Do not interrupt me. I will not tolerate it." His face had gone white with anger. Once he got it back under control, he continued. "That horse has become dangerous. He could have killed you today. I will not let that happen again."

"I won't let you do this," he said with more courage than he felt.

Irons grabbed a handful of Ian's hair and pulled his head back. "You have no choice in the matter," he told him as the handle of the fireplace shovel hit the young boy in the stomach. He doubled over and fell to the floor. The older man nudged him with the toe of his shoe and said, "Get up and walk over to the wall. And remove your shirt."

He did as he was ordered knowing it was futile to resist. He knew what was about to happen. Irons walked over to a corner of the room. When he returned, he was carrying a whip. Ian put his hands against the wall and closed his eyes in preparation for the punishment he knew was coming.

The first blow didn't draw blood, but it did hurt. With each flick of Irons' wrist, the whip struck the young boy's unprotected back. After ten blows, blood was running down his back from several gashes. Fifteen minutes later, Irons finally lowered his arm.

Ian's back was covered with blood. He now slid to the floor and lay there, not moving. The older man walked to the door and called down the hall, "Doctor Immo, come in here."

When the doctor arrived, he saw Ian laying on the floor. He looked at Irons with a look of shock on his face. "What happened?"

"Take him to the infirmary," he said, not answering the question. "And take care of his wounds."

He nodded his head and walked over to the boy. Gathering him up in his arms, he carried him out of the room and down the hallway. He laid him out on the bed and started to ten to his injuries. After washing the blood off of his back, he put some ointment on the gashes and bandaged them. Then, he did the same with the boy's hands. Immo gave him something to make him slightly more comfortable, then left the room.

*******

Ian slept off and on alternately for two days. During that time, he had rolled over onto his back. When he woke, he started to sit up in bed. The pain that spread across his back caused him to lower himself back down onto the bed. The events of the other day came back to him, and he groaned from the memory. He laid still until the doctor came in. Then, he only turned his head to the side.

Immo smiled when he saw that the young boy was finally awake. "Glad you are still with us, young Nottingham."

Ian struggled to sit up again, but it was useless. The pain was too much for him. The doctor reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. "Just lie still. You're going to open your wounds again."

He did as he was told, and Immo started to unwrap the bandages from his hands. They were covered with blisters and both of them winced at the sight. The doctor applied more ointment and wrapped them with clean bandages. Then he told Ian, "I have to turn you over so I can look at your back."

The boy nodded his head solemnly. When the doctor was finished, he said, "It will be at least a week before you can move around at all. I'm going to go let Mister Irons know you're awake."

Ian just nodded. He closed his eyes as Immo left the room. When the two men entered five minutes later, they thought he was sleeping. "Thought you said he was awake."

"He was when I left. He must have fallen back to sleep while I was gone."

The young boy didn't want to open his eyes to let them know he could hear them.

"Why don't you wake him up then?"

"Because he needs his rest."

"Fine," he said, sounding irritated. "Just let me know when he wakes again."

"I will."

When Irons left, Ian's whole body relaxed. He hadn't even known it was tensed. After only a few minutes, he had fallen into a peaceful sleep.

*******

Two weeks later Ian was able to move around without causing too much pain. His hands were healing rapidly, and he could grip objects without trouble. A month after the beating, his back was nearly completely healed. 

Six months later Irons called him into his study. "What do you know about the Witchblade, Ian?"

"Only a female may wield it, sir. It will give her powers she would not know otherwise."

"Good, Ian. I will control it or her one day."

"And how will you control the Witchblade?"

"In order to control the Witchblade, I must control the woman who wields it. And this woman must be tested, must be made to run a grueling gauntlet, and in so doing learn to use the Witchblade. The will must be tested; it must be measured. Tell me what you know of will, Nottingham."

"The will is the link between the soul and the universe."

"Well spoken, young Nottingham. And now the time has come for you to go abroad to learn your vocation. To explore your special gifts."


	5. Lessons Abroad

"Lessons Abroad"

Ian stepped out of the limousine and stood there staring in awe at a huge plane. "Is that it?" He asked, his voice filled with amazement.

Standing on the other side of the car, the driver shook his head. "No. Mister Irons' private jet is over there." He was pointing to a plane across the airfield. It was as magnificent as the one before them.

The driver grabbed Ian's bag from the trunk and headed over to the plane. The young boy followed close behind him. The sun came out from behind a cloud, and his black hair glistened where it hit. They reached the plane standing apart from the larger ones. He tossed the bag to a man standing in the plane, then turned to Ian.

His short, thick arms grabbed Ian's thin ones and pulled him close in a brief, affectionate embrace. All of Irons' staff felt a certain protective, caring feeling for the young boy. The driver was no exception. When he let him go, he said with a sad voice, "Good-bye, Ian."

He just looked up at the older man through his large, serious, hazel eyes and nodded. Then, turning toward the plane, he let the man help him up into it. He watched out the window in silence as it took off. The ground disappeared beneath them, and they were in the air. 

An hour later Ian came awake as the plane landed with a jerk. His eyes blinked several times, and he looked around. "Are we there already?" He asked, not thinking he had been asleep for that long. 

The pilot shook his head. "Not yet, son. We just have to make a stop here, then we'll continue on."

Ian nodded, then turned his gaze out the window. 

"You can get out and stretch you legs, if you'd like. We'll be here for at least a half hour." The pilot's voice came from beside him. He nodded again, opened the door, and stepped out of the plane. Returning after only a few minutes, he sat in his seat and waited until it was time to leave again.

The pilot shook his head in amazement at the dark-haired boy's patience. Most children would be squirming in the seat waiting to leave, but he just sat there as still as could be. His eyes were looking straight ahead. There were deep thoughts going on behind them though.

He watched out the window in silence for the rest of the trip. When they landed again, Ian stepped out of the plane and waited to get his bag. Once he had it, he turned around and was momentarily blinded by the bright afternoon sun. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath before opening them again. 

There were many people walking around the airport. Ian had never seen that many different people in one place before. He had never gone far from Irons' mansion while he had lived there. And he had been with him since the age of five. There were few memories of his life before that time. Only brief flashes of things he couldn't place. 

A middle-aged man and a young girl a couple of years older than Ian were walking toward him. The man stopped and asked, "Are you Ian Nottingham?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Then, I welcome you to Japan."

*******

The Nakatani family welcomed Ian into their home like he was their own son. After eating dinner, their daughter, Maeko, showed him around the place. Fences stretched around the property, keeping the thoroughbred racing horses from running off. A small, dark-gray almost black mare was running around the enclosed pasture and tossing her head. 

"What is that one's name?" He asked curious. 

"Knotaflower," she replied with an air of disdain. "She'll be lucky if Dad keeps her as a broodmare."

"Why is that?"

The girl gave him a sideways glance before replying. "She is too wild to do anything with. We can't get close enough to her to even put a rope on her."

Ian started toward the fence, but Maeko's voice stopped him. "What are you doing?"

His face turned toward her, and a small, brief smile broke out on it. Then, he put his hands on the top rail of the fence and vaulted over it. Landing on soft, cat-feet with his knees slightly bent, he straightened up on the other side. 

His legs carried him forward on light feet as he talked softly to the mare. She stopped in her running and looked at him out of a nervous eye. As he approached, she took a quick step back. He stopped and held out his hand, closed in a fist. The mare took a cautious step forward and sniffed at it. 

He slowly straightened his fingers and lightly touched her soft, velvet nose. She snorted, jerking her head away, but didn't move. Ian continued talking to her in a soft but firm voice. The words were barely loud enough to make it to Maeko's ears, and she didn't recognize the sound of them. They weren't the English or Japanese ones she was used to.

Soon the black mare settled down, and he was able to run his hand down her neck. Satisfied for now, he turned and walked back toward the fence. The mare followed a couple of steps behind him.

He climbed to the other side and grinned at Maeko. "She is not wild, just fiery. All she needs is a light touch and firm voice."

"How did you do that? What were you saying?" She asked in astonishment. 

"I just told her that it would be better for her to be calmer."

"Not in English."

"No, I said it in Gaelic. Horses like the sound of it better."

She looked up at the sky, then back to him. "We should probably be going back now. It will start to get dark soon."

When they arrived back at the house, Mister Nakatani was standing in the doorway, waiting for them. "Ian, your room is ready. You may go to it now. Your lessons will start in the morning."

The young boy nodded and walked past him. Maeko started toward her room, but was stopped by her father's arm. "What do you think of him?"

"He's good, Dad. He calmed that wild mare and acted like it was nothing. I still don't know how he did it."

"Do you believe he has something special?"

"Yes. He definitely does."

He nodded his head. "I thought so as well."

*******

When Ian woke up the next morning, there was an outfit sitting out for him; a pair of loose, black pants and shirt. He put them on, then walked out of his room. Mister Nakatani was waiting for him. 

"You are ready then?"

"Yes, sir."

The young boy stood in the middle of the room waiting for instructions. The older man had to smile at his student's patience. "The practice of Kata will improve your focus, body movement, spirit, elegance, and confidence. Concentration and focus need to be maintained to avoid becoming too lax in your practice of Kata. You must carefully control your breathing and movement," he explained.

Ian's face was serious, and he just nodded. His new teacher continued. "You will learn to punch, block, and kick your opponent. Learning to avoid staying in range of attack and to manipulate the distance between yourself and opponent so that you can move in, strike, and move out again is a benefit of practicing Kata."

"When will I learn to fight?" Ian asked, growing impatient. He started to shift his weight from one foot to the other. 

"Patience, my son. As soon as you learn patience, you will be able to learn to fight. But without patience, you will never master any art."

Ian looked down at the floor, ashamed of his lack of control. When his eyes lifted, there was a thoughtful expression on Mister Nakatani's face. "You will learn patience with time. Soon, you will realize how essential it is."

"I understand, sir."

"Good. Most of the maneuvers will begin in the natural position. Stand with your feet as far apart as the width of your hips. Your hands should be held relaxed at your sides in fists."

The young boy did as he was told. They began to go through some basic moves. At first clumsy, Ian soon was doing them with ease. An hour later the older man said, "That is good for today. Go get changed, then we will eat."

*******

That afternoon Maeko took Ian down to the stables. Knotaflower was standing by the fence, and she nickered at him as he walked up to her. Just as he started to climb to the other side, the young girl stopped him. "Ian, where are you going? Dad doesn't want you to go near her unless he's around."

He sighed and lowered himself back to the ground. They continued into the stable where Maeko pointed out a gray colt. "You can ride him for today."

"Why are we taking them out?"

"Because they need the exercise. Dad can't get to all of them all the time, so I told him we would help."

They tacked up two of the horses and rode down a trail. About a half hour later, they came to a straight, flat stretch of ground. "Let's race them," Maeko said with a grin.

Ian nodded, and they let the horses out into a gallop. The colt that she was riding pulled ahead of his. The distance started to grow between them. Leaning over the colt's neck, he whispered something, and they started to close the gap. Soon the colt's nose was next to the other colt's flank. His hooves dug into the ground, and a moment later their noses were even. Then, Ian's colt pulled ahead. 

He pulled him up after they were several lengths in the lead and waited for Maeko to catch up with them. She smiled at him and said, "That was fun. We should be going home now."

*******

"Ian, how long have you been with us?"

"For five years, sir."

Over the past few years, Ian Nottingham had gone from being a small, twelve-year old boy to an almost full-grown man of seventeen. He towered about a foot above his host. Long, black, curly hair was clubbed tightly back. He had a calm appearance and was self-assured in every movement he made. 

"That is how long it was that you were to be here. You have learned much from me. The rest of what you need to know, you must learn on your own. Do you believe that you are ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then it is time for you to return home."

*******

The next day Ian said his farewells to the Nakatani family. He saved Maeko for last. They had grown very close over the past several years, almost like brother and sister. Taking her hand in his, he said, "Goodbye, ane." Then, he leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. 

She tightened her grip on his hand and smiled at him. "Goodbye, otouto."

Several hours later Kenneth Irons' private plane landed at the airport, and Ian climbed off. The same driver that had left him there five years before was there to pick him up and take him home. He didn't stop talking on the whole ride back to the mansion. From how everyone had missed him to what they all had been up to during the time he was gone.

When they arrived, Irons was waiting on the porch. Ian stepped out of the limousine, straightened to his full height, and walked up to the house. The sun glinted off of his hair and warmed his black-clad back. Irons took the young man's hand in his with an affectionate look in his eyes that he tried to hide.

"Welcome home, Ian."

"Thank you, sir."

They walked inside before Irons said anything else. "There is going to be a banquet here tonight celebrating your return. I had a suit laid out for you in your room. Once you get a shower, put it on and come back down here."

He groaned inwardly, but just nodded his head and said, "Yes, sir."

He showered and dressed in fifteen minutes. The suit consisted of a white shirt and black tie under a black jacket, black dress pants, black socks, and polished, black shoes. He frowned at the uncomfortable fit, decided it was best not to complain, and walked out of his room. 

When he arrived downstairs, there were already people in the dining hall. Making his way over to where Irons was standing, he made his gaze travel to the floor. The older man saw him and smiled to himself. He loved the feeling of control he had over Ian. 

A young woman, she couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen, was walking toward them. Her medium-length black hair hung in curls, and brown eyes danced with excitement. Her dress was simple, but elegant. The green cloth hung to the floor, and thin straps crossed over her shoulders. The dress narrowed at the waist, and the skirt was straight. 

Irons put a charming smile on his face when he saw her approaching. "Hello, Darvy. This is Ian Nottingham," he said, putting his arm around the young man's shoulders. "Ian, this is Darvy Rose. She's the new assistant trainer. You may want to talk with her about that horse."

"Yes, sir."

Irons turned away to greet the other guests who had just arrived. Ian headed to the door so he could escape all of the new arrivals. Darvy followed right behind him. When they were outside, she asked, "So what's this about a horse that you need to talk to me about?"

"While I was in Japan, I trained one of my teacher's horses. But I was the only person who could ride her, so he is going to ship her here."

"Why did you need to talk to me about that?"

"I did not know that I did until a moment ago. Mister Irons most likely wanted you to be aware of it."

Darvy leaned against the porch railing and let out a long sigh. Then, a short laugh escaped her lips. 

"What's so funny?" Ian asked. 

Shaking her head, she replied, "Never expected to be here in the city. Definitely not standing on the porch of the richest man's mansion with such a handsome man."

Ian's eyes widened with shock, and he was left speechless for several moments. When he regained his composure, he asked, "Where are you from?"

"Originally or before I came here?" She asked with a laugh in her voice. 

Her laughter was infectious, and he couldn't keep the smile from crossing his face. "Why not both?"

"Okay. Well, I'm originally from Colorado, but lived in Pennsylvania before I came here. And you, Ian? Where are you from?"

"I really don't know. I came here when I was five. I don't remember much before that." 

Before she could ask him anything else, a man came out of the house and told him, "Mister Nottingham, Mister Irons is looking for you."

Ian nodded, and the man walked back inside. He looked at Darvy, shrugged and rolled his eyes, then turned to follow. She watched him walk away for a moment and went inside as well.

"Ian, this is your party, and you disappeared."

"I'm sorry, sir."

Irons just nodded and turned back to his guest. A few minutes later Ian jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He sighed when he saw that it was just Darvy. "Please don't do that."

"I'm sorry, Ian. Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay. I just don't like people coming up behind me."

They stood there in silence for several minutes before Darvy said, "You don't seem very comfortable."

He shrugged. "I hate wearing suits and being made to please people who can't even remember your name."

Just then they saw someone walking toward them. A frustrated sound similar to a growl escaped his lips before he plastered a smile on his face. Darvy was doing her best to stifle the laugh growing in her throat. 

"Ethan, it's good to see you again."

"Thank you, sir," he said through gritted teeth.

The man moved away and started talking to someone else. "See what I mean?" He asked with a look after the man. 

"Why didn't you just correct him?"

"It would not have done any good." He noticed everyone heading toward the dining tables, and they followed. 

*******

A couple of days later, Knotaflower arrived. Ian went down to the stables and was lifting the saddle over her back when he heard footsteps coming toward him down the aisle. Turning his head, he saw that it was Darvy.

"Good morning, Ian. Want some company?"

"Sure."

They headed out to a trail and rode in silence for about half of a mile. The mare was pulling on the reins, so Ian let her move out into a trot. The colt Darvy was riding stayed with them. He grinned as the mare moved smoothly into a gallop. He glanced back and saw that they were gaining on him.

A moment later out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colt stumble. Darvy pulled him up, then slid from the saddle. Ian turned his mount around and headed back to where they were. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure," she replied as she felt along his legs for any breaks in the bones. "I think he just took a misstep."

She straightened up and led the colt forward a few steps. He limped heavily on his right foreleg. "He must have pulled something when he stumbled," she thought out loud. "We'll have to slowly walk him back."

Ian nodded as he slid out of the saddle. When they arrived at the stable, he helped her pack the colt's leg in ice. Then he unsaddled Knotaflower, said goodbye to Darvy, and walked up to the mansion.


	6. A Knight & Dragons

"A Knight & Dragons"

  
  


"Ian, come in here."

The young man bowed his head and walked into the room. "Yes, sir?"

"Where have you been for the last few hours?"

"I went riding with Darvy."

"For over three hours?"

"Well, we talked for a while as well."

"You two have grown close over the last five years," he remarked with a smirk.

"Yes, sir. We have become friends," he replied with a glare. 

"I'm sure you have."

"Sir, what is it that you wanted?"

Infuriated at this outburst, he pushed himself out of the chair and stepped in front of Ian. Grabbing his chin firmly in his hand, he said, "I will tell you when I'm ready to. Until then, do not speak out of turn."

"I am sorry, sir."

Irons stepped away and walked over to the window. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stared outside for several minutes. Once he felt that Ian had waited for a sufficient amount of time, he turned around and walked back over to his chair. 

"There is a special forces unit being assembled by the defense department. I feel your skills make you an ideal candidate for this unit. What do you think about it, Ian?" He asked, even though it didn't make any difference to him what the young man thought about it.

"I think that whatever you feel is best for me is what I shall do."

Getting the response he wanted, Irons smiled. "You'll leave in a week. That is all. You may go."

Ian nodded, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room. 

*******

A week later, Ian tossed his small, black bag into the trunk of the limousine. Then, he turned around to face Darvy. She had come up from the barn to tell him farewell and was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and an old shirt. He had on a loose, black shirt and black pants. Her eyes were moist as she shook his hand. 

"Goodbye, Ian."

"Goodbye, my friend."

Ian stepped back, then turned around and climbed into the back of the car. As it pulled away, he glanced out the back window and saw her standing there, watching him leave. After a while, he fell asleep and didn't wake up again until the car stopped and was shut off. His eyes opened, blinked several times, and adjusted to the change in lighting. He wasn't sure how long he's been sleeping, but it had been early evening when they left, and now it was shortly after noon the following day.

He opened the door, stepped out of the car, and looked around. He was in a clearing surrounded by trees. There were several buildings on one side. On the other was what looked like a military training camp. A man was walking toward him. "Are you Ian Nottingham?" He asked in a raspy voice.

"Yes, sir."

"Go put your stuff in there," he told him pointing to a building where ten other men were standing. 

He nodded his head and walked over to it. The men were blocking the entrance, however.

"I must get in there. Please move out of the way."

"Who are you?" One of them asked in a thick German accent.

"Does anyone truly know who they are?" Ian asked as the beginning of a smile started to form at the corners of his mouth. 

"He wanted to know your name," a British voice said from his left.

"He should have just said that. My name is Ian Nottingham. And what is yours?"

"Mine is Aldric Barnett," the Brit replied. 

"I am Agustine Baldwyn," the German said.

They stepped aside and let him pass, following as soon as he did. There was an empty bed along the wall on the far side of the room. He tossed his bag onto it, then turned to Aldric and asked, "Can I know everyone else's names, or are they to be kept a secret?"

The corner of the other man's mouth curled in a smile, and he said, "Not at all. My fellow countryman here," he was pointing to the man standing beside him, "is Barden Adalson. The two Frenchies there," he said with an amiable smile, "are Alexandre Bayard and Colyn Deveral. The other German there is Berne Dedrick. The Italians are Armond Drago and Federico Gavino. The Russian on the end there is Adrik Kolya. And..." He was interrupted by a large, black man standing farthest to the right.

"I will introduce myself, Aldric. "I'm Hector Mobius."

Barden was a small man of about twenty-five with dark blond, almost brown hair and green eyes. Aldric had the look of an aristocrat. He had a thin nose and sharp, blue eyes. His light blond hair was cut short. He was about an inch taller than Ian. Alexandre had auburn hair that hung past his ears. He had a serious look in his brown eyes. Colyn had short, black, curly hair and brown eyes. He had a friendly look to him.

Agustine had light blond hair and soft blue eyes. He stood with an air of dignity; his shoulders drawn back and his head held high. Berne was a large, bear-like man with shaggy brown hair. His blue eyes were hard and cold. Armond was tall with dark brown hair, and his brown eyes were slanted. He stood apart from the others, seeming aloof. Federico had a hawk-like face; sharp brown eyes, a thin pointed nose, and thin lips. His hair was light blond, almost white. He seemed to be completely at peace with himself. The Russian, Adrik, was dark-skinned, dark-haired, and had brown eyes. 

They were called to dinner, and Ian and Aldric walked to the dining hall together. All eyes were on him as they ate in silence. When everyone had finished, they went back to their sleeping arrangements. Ian sat on his bed, closed his eyes, and started to meditate. A moment later he heard footsteps approaching him. His eyes opened, and he turned his head. The large, bear-like German was standing in front of him. "What do you want?"

"You are not one of us," he said in a German accent that was hard to understand. 

"What do you mean by that?"

"You do not belong here."

"Then why is it that I'm here?"

The large man shrugged. "I have not figured it out."

Ian closed his eyes and turned his head away. He could feel the air pushed toward him as the German reached for his shirt collar. His left hand reached up to block as his eyes opened. Berne seemed surprised by this quick reaction, but recovered in time to throw a punch at Ian's head.

He moved out of the way by rolling to the other end of the bed. Air rushed by his head as he did this. His right foot caught the other man behind the knee, causing him to fall to the floor. Ian jumped from the bed and landed solidly on his feet. The other men gathered around in eagerness for the fight that was about to come. 

Berne had regained his feet and was coming after Ian again. He tested a punch to the face, but only came away with empty air. He tried again, this time aiming for the mid section. Ian spun out of the way, and the large German stumbled, but stayed on his feet. He went after Ian again, and wrapping his arms around his back with his hands clasped together, he ground his knuckles into the smaller man's spine. Ian was bent back nearly in half and could feel a stab of excruciating pain go through his back. He kicked his feet out and both men fell to the floor.

Ian, being the quicker of the two, was on his feet first. Berne slowly got to his and advanced. Ian circled him warily, then lifted his left leg, pivoted on his right, and sent his foot into the large man's stomach. He doubled over in pain and let out a gasp of air. It was filled with as much shock as pain.

As he was straightening, the other men started to move away. The man who had met Ian when he first arrived strode over to them. There was rage and fury in his face. "What do you two think you're doing?" He demanded.

Ian just stared at the floor. "Nottingham, look at me now!"

It was a struggle for him to raise his eyes. He was accustomed to Irons demanding that he didn't make eye contact. "Sorry, sir."

"That's better. Now what was this about?"

"I do not know, sir."

"What do you mean you don't know?" He roared at him.

Aldric stepped forward and said, "On Nottingham's behalf, sir, he was only defending himself. Dedrick went after him."

He nodded his head. "Thank you, Barnett. I will speak to you," he nodded at Berne, "outside. Now!" He added when the German hesitated.

He returned ten minutes later, but only glared at Ian as he made his way to his bed. Aldric walked over to his new friend and sat beside him. 

"I must thank you," Ian told him. 

"For what reason."

"You spoke up for me back there. You had no reason to do that."

"Do not think another thing about it."

He moved away to his own bed. A moment later someone turned off the lights, and they went to sleep.

*******

Several months went by while the group trained. Aldric and Ian became good friends during this time. Berne remained hostile, but everyone else was friendly or at least pretended to be. 

One morning after practicing at the target range, he was stopped by the sergeant on his way back to the barracks. "You did excellent in there. You didn't miss one target, and your hits would have been fatal."

"Thank you, sir. What good is it if they can walk away?"

"Exactly my thoughts, Nottingham. You're good with a gun. How are you with a knife?" He asked as he handed one to him.

They walked to the practice area, and he showed the sergeant what he could do on a dummy. The older man was impressed with what he saw. The model was virtually destroyed. "Where did you learn those moves?" 

"When I was younger, I studied in Japan for several years."

The sergeant nodded his head, then left.

*******

"Adalson, Deveral, Drago, Nottingham, and Barnett, you are the black team. The rest of you are the white team. The bullets in your rifles have been replaced with blanks except for one in each gun. Your knives have not been dulled. You do not want to be hit with either weapon. Do you understand?"

They all nodded their heads and said, "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now break up into your teams."

They did as they were told and started the game. A few shots were fired, but no hits made. After a while, Aldric crawled out from behind his shelter and started toward the other team's lines. Shots sailed over him, one slamming into the ground right beside his head. He continued forward until a bullet caught him in the shoulder. 

Seeing that his friend and team member was injured, Ian leaped from behind his shelter and ran over to him. Then, he dragged him out of the way as his other team members laid down a withering cover fire. 

Berne went around and came up behind him as soon as Ian was back in his place. He sensed him coming, spun around, and knocked the knife from the German's hand. The game ended without any more hits being made.

"Barnett, get to the infirmary. The rest of you, good job. Nottingham, I'd like to speak with you. Everyone else may get to their barracks."

"What do you want, sir," Ian asked once everyone else had gone.

"That was quick thinking, and you showed loyalty to your unit. Signs of a true warrior."

"Thank you, sir."

"You may go now."

Ian walked to the barracks, but couldn't sleep, so he got up and made his way to the infirmary to see how his friend was. 

"He'll be fine," the doctor told him. "It didn't do any real damage."

After visiting with Aldric for a few moments, he made his way back to the barracks and was soon asleep. The next morning all of the men met in one of the buildings for a battle simulation. When it was over, they were to report to the infirmary for their weekly dose of drugs that were supposed to enhance their aggression as well as intelligence. Ian didn't like it, but he did as he was told. He didn't suffer from the side effects like some of the others at least. For him there were no delusions of grandeur, excessive aggression, or paranoia. Aldric didn't suffer from them either. The drugs also made all of the men sensitive to certain frequencies of sights and sounds around them. Strobe lights were especially bad. The other members of the team remained loyal to the unit, but those two were loyal to each other more than to anyone else.

*******

A week before Thanksgiving the sergeant gathered the eleven men together. "Black Dragons, you have your first assignment. Mark Voren is the son of an important diplomat. Two weeks ago he was abducted by militant forces. Law enforcement agents can't find him, so they have asked us. We depart in the morning. Any questions?"

"No, sir," they said in unison.

Early the next morning, the men were ready to go. They climbed into the helicopter and flew to what would be their base camp. When they arrived, they set up camp, changed into black pants and shirts, and painted their faces black. Mobius was the only one who didn't. They waited for it to grow dark, then slipped on black gloves. They didn't want any flash of pale skin to give them away. Grabbing their weapons, they departed from the camp. 

They split into four groups of three men. Ian, Aldric, and Agustine were in one, and Federico, Mobius, and Alexandre were in another. Berne, Adrik, and Barden were in the third, and Colyn, Armond, and the sergeant were in the last. Ian's group went north, Federico's went east, Berne's went south, and Colyn's went to the west. Each group had a walkie-talkie with them and were to be reachable at all times.

It began to grow light again several hours later, and none of the groups had found anything. They all heard the sergeant's voice as he said, "Find a well-hidden place to rest until dark. No fires. You will have to eat your rations cold. When you find them, whichever group does, alert the rest of us, then wait. Do not go in by yourselves."

When dark came again, the teams headed out from their temporary camps. More than an hour later, Aldric spotted the flames from a campfire. They crept closer, and Ian could make out twenty men outlined by the fire. There was another man farther back bound hand and foot. He was also silenced with a cloth in his mouth. 

Ian got on the walkie-talkie and alerted the rest of the unit. Then, they waited. Half an hour went by and there was no sign of them. Then, an hour. Finally, impatient and disgusted, Agustine said, "Let's go. It vill be morning bevore they get here."

"No," Aldric countered. "We are to wait."

They quietly argued, not wanting to alert the men they were watching. Agustine's determination finally won out. They started forward silently. The German slipped on a patch of mud and caused a commotion as he fell to the ground. 

The men around the fire jumped to their feet, grabbed their rifles, and tossed some shots through the air. Ian and Aldric dived to the ground as the bullets whizzed over their heads. Crawling closer, they each got off a shot, then rolled away from their former position. Ian got to his feet and sprinted toward the camp. He heard the bullets coming at him and spun out of their way. He couldn't do this forever though. He was almost to the camp when a searching fire sent a bullet through the muscle of his calf.

He fell to the ground, but pushed himself back to his feet. As five of them men rushed at him, he felt a pair of hands grab him from behind. He struggled until the soft, British voice of his friend said, "Ian, relax. It is just me."

Relaxing, he allowed Aldric to drag him to safety. Then, he rolled over on his stomach, brought his rifle to his shoulder, and shot at the advancing men. One of them fell and didn't get up again. Then, the rest of the unit arrived. Ian took out two more men, then lowered the gun and closed his eyes. Blood was pouring out of his wound, and he was quickly growing weaker. 

When the last man had fallen, Alexandre walked over and freed the young man. Aldric made his way over to Ian and kneeled down beside him.

"I owe you my life."

"No, we are even now."

"We will never be even. You saved my life."

Before Aldric could reply, the sergeant came over to them and asked, "How are you, Nottingham."

"In pain, sir," he replied with a pain-filled grin that turned to a grimace.

"Can you stand up and walk?"

"Yes, sir."

He pushed himself slowly to his feet. Taking a step forward, he stumbled and almost fell. Aldric caught his arm, keeping him on his feet. Ian's face was pale, and his eyes were filled with pain, but he clenched his teeth together and took another step. 

"Colyn, take him back to our temporary camp, and I will have the chopper pick you up there."

"Yes, sir."

They had to move slowly and rest often for Ian's sake, and he lost consciousness a few times, so it was almost midday before they reached the camp. When they arrived, Aldric took his bandanna and wrapped it around his friend's wounded leg. The bottom half of the leg was covered in blood. It was dripping into his boot as well. It was another hour before the helicopter arrived. They got Ian onto it, and headed back.

They arrived back at the compound shortly before it began to grow dark. Aldric and Colyn helped Ian to the infirmary. Then, the Brit and the Sergeant waited while the doctor took care of his wound. An hour later he came over to them and said, "He has a fever, but I gave him something to bring it down. He should stay off the leg for a week or two. If he does that, he should be fine."

They thanked him, then Aldric went to the barracks and fell asleep. The Sergeant stood outside for a moment, looking up at the stars. Then, he went to bed.

*******

Ian stayed in the infirmary for ten days before he could get up to walk to the barracks and his own bed. He had to stay there for another week. While he was recovering, he hadn't eaten much and was thin and weak. When he actually walked, he did so with a heavy limp. 

Three weeks after he was wounded, the sergeant came to the barracks to speak with him. "Nottingham, I'm sending you home for a month, so you can recover properly. After that time I will see how your progress is and if you are ready to return. You are no good to me in your current condition."

"I understand, sir."

"The chopper will take you home in the morning."

The next morning Ian walked outside with the help of a crutch and waited for the helicopter to arrive. While he was waiting, he saw Aldric walking toward him.

"When will you be returning?"

"In a month if my condition improves."

The Brit shook hands with him when his ride arrived, then turned sharply around and walked away. He was going to miss his friend. A man helped Ian into the helicopter, and they were gone. 

The pilot landed a couple of hours later, and Ian was helped out and up to the house. Irons was waiting for him on the porch. "There is a room ready for you downstairs."

"Thank you, sir."

The older man just nodded and turned away as a servant helped Ian to the room. He had been in there for an hour when there was a knock on his door. He looked up and saw Darvy standing there. Her face was filled with worry. "Are you all right, Ian?"

"I will be fine."

Her face relaxed in relief. "I'm glad to see you. Although I wish you were home under different circumstances." And for good, she wanted to add, but knew she couldn't let him know how she felt. It would only end in disaster. 

He smiled at her and said, "Maybe we can go for a ride before I return."

"Just get better," she told him before leaving. 

*******

The two weeks until Christmas went by quickly. The day after it, Darvy came into Ian's room and sat beside his bed. He had regained most of the weight he had lost, and his natural color had returned. His former strength was returning as well, but he was still somewhat weak.

"Ian, I'm leaving next month. I got a job offer out in Colorado. I accepted it, and I'm moving on the eleventh of next month."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

Two weeks later the sergeant arrived at the mansion in person to see Ian. He could now stand without help and only walked with a slight limp. "I think you are ready to return. If your doctor agrees, then you will leave with me tonight."

Doctor Immo gave his okay, and Ian gathered his things together. When they were leaving, he saw Darvy standing down by the stables. "I'll be right back, sir."

She met him halfway, and he took her hand in his. "Good luck."

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Stay safe," she whispered.

She watched him as he walked away. Then, turning away, she went about her work.

*******

When they arrived, everyone but Berne came out to meet them. "Welcome back, Ian," Aldric greeted him.

"It's good to be back," he responded.

Everyone else greeted him, then things went back to normal.

*******

"Nottingham, I just finished talking to your master. He wants you to return to him."

"Why, sir?"

"You have been here for three years. He feels it is time for you to return."

The young man just nodded his head.

"You'll leave in the morning."

"Yes, sir," he replied, then turned on his heel and strode from the room.


	7. A Knight's Return

"A Knight's Return"

  
  


Ian stepped off of the plane and saw Irons' driver waiting for him. He climbed into the back of the car, closed his eyes, and immediately fell asleep. He hadn't slept for more than two hours total the night before. He had been excited to be going home, but was also somewhat sad to be leaving his comrades. He had been afflicted with a nightmare as well.

A knight stood in the middle of a large arena as a huge, black dragon advanced on him. As they began to battle, more dragons appeared. He could sense their unspoken feelings of betrayal as their eyes tore into him. Soon, he was surrounded by ten of the dark creatures. He slew them one by one until there was only a single dragon left. It advanced on him and backed him against a wall. Just as it was about to strike, Ian jerked awake. He was covered in sweat and breathing heavily. After taking several deep breaths, he was back to normal and returned to sleep.

*******

When they arrived at the mansion, Irons walked out to meet them. "Glad you made it back safely, Ian."

"As am I, sir."

They walked inside and the younger man carried his bag up to his room. After almost two years, his limp was hardly noticeable. When he reached his room, he unpacked his bag. Then, he changed into some riding clothes he still had from before he left for the Black Dragons and walked downstairs. Irons was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and he turned around as Ian came down them. "Where are you going, Ian?"

"Down to the stables to ride."

"You cannot do that."

"Why not, sir."

"I do not own any of the animals anymore. After Miss Rose left, I sold all of them. I hadn't felt like hiring anyone else." He had never told Darvy or Ian that he had been the one who had gotten the job for here out in Colorado. He didn't want her to get involved with Ian and distract him from his duties, and he could tell that was the way things were going. 

With a look of disappointment, he turned and walked back to his room. Once Ian was out of sight, the older man walked into his study, picked up a letter from his desk, and scanned the contents. 

  
  


Dear Ian,

You haven't answered any of my previous letters, but I thought I would try once more. I hope you are not upset with me. I don't remember doing anything to cause that, but just want to voice this fear. If you don't answer this letter, I will figure you are upset with something and will stop trying to contact you.

Everything is well here. I've had this job for about two years now and am doing well. Everyone on the ranch is kind to me. They are almost like a family to me now. Just last week the wife of one of the ranch hands had a baby boy. They named him Patrick Dakota. I was asked to be his godmother and accepted. He is a beautiful boy with green eyes. 

Several letter ago I told you about the young man who had started to "court" me. After a couple of week, I realized I loved him. When he asked me to marry him earlier this week, I said yes. We are planning the wedding for early next year. I hope you will be able to make it. 

Well, I will stop boring you with the petty details of my life. I hope this letter finds you safe and healthy. Goodbye, my dear friend. 

Your good friend,

Darvy Rose.

  
  


When he had finished reading it, Irons crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed it into the fire. "You can have the same end as the rest of them," he muttered to himself. Now he was sure that he had been right to get her away when he did. 

Walking out of the room, he made his way to the kitchen to find out how much longer it would be until dinner was finished.

*******

Darvy had been in the city for a week before she had enough courage to drive to the mansion. It had been three years since she had left, and she wasn't sure how she would be received. When she finally did, a servant answered her knock and after she asked to see Ian, took her into the library to wait. 

Five minutes later, he appeared. He was dressed in his usual black attire with his long hair pulled back. He seemed surprised to see her at first, then smiled in greeting. "Darvy, it's been a long time since we've talked."

"I know. You never answered any of my letters."

"What are you talking about? I never got any letters from you."

"I sent them here hoping Mister Irons would know of a way to get them to you. Guess he never did."

"No, he never did." They were silent for a moment, then Ian asked, "Would you like to take a walk?"

"Yeah, I would."

They walked outside and started down the path to the old stables. When they were almost there, he finally noticed the gold ring on her left hand. "When did that happen?" He asked.

"Six months ago. A hand from a neighboring ranch, Keith Matisan. He's a good man, and he loves me."

"That is good. Do you love him as well?" Irons had always told him that love was pointless, that there was always something else behind someone's words and actions. That nothing anyone ever did was for love. 

"Yes, I do. There has only been one other man I have cared as much for."

They lapsed into silence again for about ten minutes, then she asked, "Are you out of the military now?"

"Yes, I am. I was honorably discharged a year ago. Mister Irons wanted me back here."

"Do you miss it at all?"

"Not the killing. It was necessary, and we were ordered to do it, but I think only a couple actually enjoyed the doing of it. I do sometimes miss my comrades though." They were silent until he asked her, "What are you doing back here?"

"My boss wanted me to look at some horses he was thinking about buying. I thought I would visit while I was here. I have to return in a few days."

They had reached the stables and turned around. Having nothing else to talk about, they walked up to the mansion in silence. After saying goodbye, Darvy returned to her rental car and drove back to her hotel.

*******

Ian was about to step outside when he heard Irons call his name from behind him. "Ian, would you please come in here?"

He had wanted to escape from the house for a bit, but that didn't seem to be possible at the moment. "What is it, sir?" He asked as he stepped into the study. 

"How long has it been since you returned from the Black Dragons?"

"Four years, sir."

"And what have you been doing in that time?"

"Training. Always trying to improve myself, sir."

"Good," he replied as he swung his cane at the younger man's body.

Ian blocked the blow and took a small step back. Irons had a wide smile on his face. "You haven't lost your alertness or swiftness at least. Now I have something of which to speak with you."

"What would that be, sir?"

"Two years ago the Black Dragons unit was disbanded. The men were sent home. Only they didn't return home."

"Where did they go?"

"They split into smaller groups and went rogue. They have stayed out of sight for the last two years. Now they are surfacing. You are to find them and take care of them."

His eyes went wide with shock, but before he could say anything, Irons dismissed him. He strode out of the room as a sadness descended on him. He knew what his master really wanted him to do. It was to kill them before they caused trouble for him. He didn't want to hunt down his former comrades, but he didn't have a choice in the matter. Orders were orders.

*******

Later that night he cleaned his guns and made sure they were fully loaded. He knew he would have to leave to do this job soon and wanted to be ready. Just as he was putting them aside, the door opened, and Irons stepped into the room. 

"Do you want something, sir?"

He shook his head from side to side. "I have some information for you. Three of the Black Dragons were spotted this morning."

"Where, sir?"

"A small town in the middle of Northwestern Pennsylvania. Whispton. It's only about an hour from the Ohio border."

"I will leave in the morning, sir."

"No, Ian. You will leave tonight. With the use of my jet, you will arrive in less than a half hour."

"Yes, sir."

Once Irons had left, he gathered together several days' worth of clothing and threw it into a bag. Then, he shrugged into his long, black trench coat and slipped his guns on. Pulling black gloves over his hands, he picked up his bag and walked downstairs. The driver was waiting for him there. Ian handed him the bag, then they walked out to the waiting car and drove to the airport. 

A little more than an hour later, they landed at a small airport about fifteen miles north of the town. Ian thanked the pilot, then climbed out of the plane and looked around for the car that should be waiting him. The dark was gathering, and it was getting hard to see, but his vision was better than most people's. He soon spotted the car and walked over to it.

Ten minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of a small hotel. Grabbing his bag out of the trunk, Ian walked inside and paid for a room. He laid down on his bed, but it took him a long time to fall asleep. When he finally did, it wasn't for long. After only sleeping for a few hours, he awoke. This happened again a few hours later. He finally gave up on sleep when the sun began to rise over the horizon. 

He pulled on his pants and a shirt, shoved his feet into his boots, put on his gloves, and slipped into his trench coat. Hiding his guns underneath the coat, he walked out of the room. Ian ate breakfast, then left the hotel.

He walked down to a creek that ran through the woods at the edge of the town. Staring into the low, murky water left from a somewhat dry spring, he let his thoughts be carried away with the slow current. Several minutes later he heard the squashing sound of mud as someone took a step on the opposite bank. Ian's eyes shot open, and he sighed in relief when he saw that it was only a young, teenage girl. 

"Who are you?" She asked, staring at him with suspicious brown eyes. "You don't belong around here."

"No one you will ever need to lay eyes on again," he replied, turning away. As he did so, a man stepped out from behind a tree. The girl saw him as well and gasped in surprise and fear.

Berne Dedrick had not changed much in the last four years. He still resembled a large bear, and his hair was as shaggy as it had been then. The only thing that had changed was his eyes. Instead of only being hard and cold, they now held an insane light as well. He also had several weeks growth of beard on his face. 

"Get out of here," he told the girl.

She started to do as he said, but before she could even take a step, the large German had stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a restraining way. "You vill not be going anyvhere."

"I always knew you for a coward, Dedrick."

The other man reached a hand down, and it came back up with a gun. The girl dropped to the ground and stayed there, her body shaking from fear. Ian rolled away as bullets began to come from Berne's gun. His guns came out as he regained his feet. One bullet took the German in the chest, and the second went in through the middle of his forehead. Before he had even fallen to the ground, Ian was off and running through the trees. He hadn't gone far when he saw Agustine Baldwyn and Adrik Kolya standing on each side of a tall, wide tree. He stepped behind a pine tree as they opened fire on him. He heard the bullets as they slammed into the tree trunk and sailed harmlessly past his head. Taking a second to catch his breath and think, he then stepped out and returned their fire. 

One shot hit the Russian in the hip and spun him around. The next took him in the chest and he crumpled to the ground. His eyes stared unseeing at the sky. Augustine followed him, then Ian ran back toward the town. When he reached the spot where he had seen the girl, he slowed and began to walk. She was just beginning to lift herself from the ground. She was trembling with fear and stood unsteadily on her feet. "Who are you?" She asked again, this time in a shaky voice instead of a suspicious tone.

"Do not worry about that. I am gone," he replied as he took off again.

Once the town was in sight, he started to walk again. It wasn't until then that he felt the sting on his neck and jaw line. He rubbed his hand against it, and it came away wet with blood. The bullets must have chipped some bark fragments from the trees, and they had hit him there. 

When he arrived back at the hotel, he climbed into his room through the window, grabbed his things, and climbed out again. Ian drove to the airport, then left the car sitting there. The plane was waiting for him. He was glad Irons had ordered the pilot to stay until the young man had finished the job. 

When he arrived back at the mansion, Ian slowly walked into the house. He was exhausted and just wanted to lie down and sleep. Irons stepped into the hallway from his study and smiled at Ian. "How did it go?" He asked like Ian had just returned from a business meeting.

"The three dragons have departed."

"Good work, Ian."

His hair had fallen down and was covering the dried blood on his neck and face, so Irons didn't notice it. Ian walked up the stairs, fell onto his bed, and didn't open his eyes until the next morning. 

*******

Three months after his first Dragon hunting trip, Irons sent Ian out again. He went to the town and paid for a hotel room. The next day when he was walking around the town he saw his former Italian comrades sitting at a table in a small restaurant. They saw him as well, and their eyes narrowed. He continued walking, but knew he would see them again before long.

That night he was returning to his hotel in the dark when the two men stepped out in front of him. He drew his sword and took a step forward to meet them. Armond drew his gun, but before he could fire it, Ian swung the sword and cut deep into the other man's chest. Federico's fate followed the same path. 

Ian started to run back to the hotel, but someone spotted him before he could make it. They thought someone running through the streets in the dark looked suspicious. He sprinted the rest of the way, reached through the open window, and grabbed his bag off of the bed. He was glad he hadn't taken anything out of it yet. When he was almost to the car, half a dozen hands grabbed him. 

Spinning around, he pulled one of the men off balance, and he fell to the ground. The other men soon followed their comrade. Then, ten more men jumped on him. He struggled with them, but their strength of number overpowered him. One of the men hit him over the head to knock him out. It stunned him, but was not enough to send him into unconsciousness.

After interrogating and only getting his name out of him, they threw him into a jail cell, and he went over to the cot. With nothing else to do, he fell asleep. The next morning he woke to the sound of approaching footsteps, but didn't open his eyes until the cell door swung open. The guard stood in the doorway and glared at him. "You are free to go now, Mister Nottingham. We got a call this morning and were told to release you. Just never let us see you here again."

Ian grabbed his stuff from the office and left the town behind him. When he returned to the mansion, Irons was waiting for him on the porch. Ian could tell that he wasn't pleased. "What happened, Ian?"

"Someone saw me. I did not get away quick enough."

"Was all your training for nothing?"

"No, sir. It will not happen again."

"It better not. Before you arrived, I received word of two more of them. Get changed, then you will leave again."

"Yes, sir."

*******

The next morning Ian was walking out of his hotel when he was surprised by the face of Aldric Barnett. His friend had changed though. His face was no longer friendly, and he looked at Ian as though he had betrayed them all. The Brit drew his gun, but Ian had his out first. The people on the street just watched them, thinking it was being staged. The two men stared each other down for several minutes before Ian lowered his gun. "I don't want to kill you, old friend," he said in a voice that was only slightly more than a whisper. 

"Your mercy can go to bloody hell, you traitor," he screamed at him as he squeezed off a shot.

Ian wasn't prepared for it, and the bullet tore through his side. He fell to the ground, but managed to hold onto his gun. He shot from that position after a moment's hesitation. He hadn't wanted to kill him, his friend, but now it seemed he didn't have a choice. The bullet took Aldric right through the heart, killing him instantly. 

He struggled to his feet and saw Barden Adalson step forward. Ian was getting tired of this, so as the other man raised his gun, he aimed at his shoulder. Just as he tightened his finger around the trigger, however, a spasm of pain went through him, and the bullet took the man through the ribs. As it came out of his back, it cut clean through his spine. He fell to the ground never to move again. Ian fell to the ground as his legs gave out on him and saw his blood soaking the street. I'm dying, was his last conscious thought before everything around him went dark.

Ian woke with a groan of pain and looked around him. He realized he was in his own room back at the mansion. He had no idea how he had arrived there though. Trying to sit up, he felt a sharp stab of pain slice through his wounded side. He lifted the blanket that covered him and saw that someone had bandaged him. Just then, he heard the door open and looked up to see Doctor Immo standing there. 

"How are you doing, Ian?"

"Not too great, sir," he managed to croak out in a voice that sounded strange to him.

"Not surprising. You've been out of it for a week. I finally managed to bring your fever down last night. You lost a lot of blood from that wound. You're lucky to be alive, son."

"I do not feel that way."

"Don't worry, son. You will feel better in a few weeks."

The doctor gave Ian something for the pain and to let him sleep. Then, he slipped out of the room. A month later Ian was able to walk around for a short time, but he was still weak. He still hadn't forgiven himself for killing his friend, even though he knew he hadn't had a choice. If he hadn't, he would be the one who was dead now.

*******

Three months after he had been wounded, Ian was called into Irons' study. "What day is it?' The old man asked him.

"November eleventh, sir."

"That is right. The new wielder will emerge today, Ian."

He stood there in silence, waiting for his orders. He didn't wait long. "Go down to the Midtown Museum and wait for her to arrive. You'll know her even though you don't. Make sure everything goes as it should."

"Yes, sir."

When he arrived at the museum, there was only a half hour until it closed. He walked to the Joan of Arc exhibit and stared down at the gauntlet in the display case. An hour later he was still there even though the museum had closed. There was a commotion outside, then two people, a man and a woman, ran inside. They exchanged some shots, then she lost him.

Ian stepped away from the showcase and waited for her to appear. When she did, the young woman seemed to be mesmerized by the Witchblade. Ian stepped behind her, but she didn't notice him until she straightened up from her crouch. 

"Magnificent, isn't it?" He asked with a quick smile as she spun around and pointed her gun at him.

"Sorry, sir," she said in an embarrassed apology. "You shouldn't be here."

Knowing her adversary was behind him, Ian moved out of the way of the new wielder.


	8. A Bard's Beginning

"A Bard's Beginning"

  
  


The small boy was sitting on a rock beside the water staring at a piece of paper with the beginnings of a song written on it. His hand, which was holding a pen, hovered over the paper. A guitar was leaning against the rock. He was so intent on what he was doing that he didn't hear his older brother's approaching footsteps. When he did, it was too late. He felt a hand push against his back, then he was falling into the water. 

As he kicked his feet and flailed his arms, he could hear his brother on the bank laughing. After a minute, he made it back onto the grass and laid there gasping for breath. Then, he sat up and glared at his brother. "Edward, did ya have to do that?'

"Aye, I did, John Patrick. It is the only way to get your attention."

The younger boy looked around and saw his paper floating in the water. He tried to grab it, but it remained just out of his reach. He turned back around and saw the infuriating grin on his brother's face. "I cannot believe you did that. Or rather, I can," he said with a glare. 

"Get over it, little brother. It is just words on paper." Edward Dougherty continued to laugh at his little brother's anger. 

"I'm gonna tell Ma," he said as he started to run up to the house.

"You do that, mama's boy," the older boy yelled after him. He picked up the guitar and walked up to the house. When he arrived there, his mother was waiting for him. The way she carried herself made her seem taller than she really was. 

"Edward, why must ye bedevil your little brother like that?"

"It's too much fun not to, Ma."

"Just leave him be."

"All right," he replied with some reluctance.

"Now go find your older brothers so we can eat dinner."

When the family had finished eating dinner, the man sitting at the head of the table looked up at the oldest of his four sons and said, "Christopher, I have need to go into Ardglass tomorrow. Would ye like to go with me?"

"Aye, Da, I would enjoy that."

Their mother turned to the youngest boy and asked, "Are you going to play for us tonight, John Patrick?"

His eyes widened when he remembered he had forgotten to grab his guitar before running up to the house. "I left . . ."

He was interrupted by Edward's voice. "Your guitar is sitting by the door. I brought it up for ye."

The redheaded youngster tested the strings before beginning to play. Then, he started to sing:

  
  


At a cottage door one winters' night  
As the snow lay on the ground  
Stood a youthful Irish soldier boy  
To the mountains he was bound  
His mother stood beside him saying  
You'll win my boy don't fear  
With loving arms around his waist   
She tied his bandolier. 

Good bye, God bless you mother dear  
I hope your heart won't pain  
But pray to God that you should see  
Your soldier boy again  
And when I'm out in the firing line   
It will be a source of joy  
For you to know that you're remembering still   
Your Irish Soldier boy

*******

The Dougherty family walked out of the church Sunday morning together with the rest of the congregation. When he stepped out into the sunlight, John Patrick saw Mary Bernadette Walsh standing with her parents. She flashed a smile in his direction, and he grinned back at her. "Da, I will return soon," he told his father without taking his eyes from the young girl.

Seeing the object of his son's attention, he just smiled and nodded at his son. With each step closer to the girl, his heart beat faster. Just the sight of her caused his mouth to go dry and took the boastful words from his mouth. Instead he usually stammered through his sentences. 

Her dark brown hair fell several inches below her shoulders, and her cat-like green eyes stood out from her light skin. Her entire face lit up when she smiled. She was slim, and her every movement was graceful. 

"John Patrick, how are ye this mornin'?" She asked in her soft, sweet voice. 

"I'm doing fine," he replied slowly, losing the words he was going to say once again. He wasn't sure why this girl caused him to act this way.

He stood there, unsure of what to say next, until his brother, Daniel, strode over to them. "Come on, John. We are leaving."

With one last look at Mary, the young boy followed his brother back to where his family was waiting.

*******

As soon as they were dismissed, the boys in the small classroom stood up from their seats and walked to the door. John Patrick was the first one to step outside. He hated being in there all day instead of being outdoors playing his guitar. He looked around for his brothers, but didn't see them. Every day they went home together. Sitting on the ground, he waited for them. 

A moment later, one of the other boys kicked his foot as he walked by. "I apologize for that," the boy said, his voice filled with insincerity.

"No, you're not. You saw me foot there. Ye didn't even try to avoid it."

"Well, perhaps ye should be keepin' your feet out of me way."

He jumped to his feet and swung a fist at the other boy who jumped out of the way of the punch. Then, he lunged at John Patrick, and they fell to the ground. The two boys wrestled for several minutes until he felt someone grab the back of his shirt and lift him to his feet. Turning around, he looked up and saw Christopher standing there. Daniel and Edward were standing behind him. At the sight of them, especially the hard look on their faces, the other boy ran in the other direction. 

The four boys started home, and Edward told him, "Da's gonna kill ya. Your clothes are muddy and torn. And he hates when ye get into fights."

"He doesn't like it any better when you do."

"No, but he's used to it with me."

The rest of the trip home was made in silence. When they arrived, Seamus Dougherty met them at the door. He could see the mud on his son's clothes as they walked up to the house. "Get out of those shoes and clothes, and get to the bathroom and clean up. Then, you had better put clean ones on before your ma sees you."

"Yes, Da."

Once he was in the house, Seamus turned to his other sons. "What happened to him?"

The two older boys shrugged, and Christopher was about to make up something about how he had fallen and rolled down a hill when Edward spoke up. "He was in a fight with another lad at school."

Their father frowned for a moment, then turned and walked into the house. Christopher and Daniel glared at Edward, then followed their father inside. That night when John Patrick came to the table for dinner, he didn't look at any of them as he carefully sat in his chair. The meal was eaten in silence, then the young boy was sent to his room. He was only to leave it for meals, school, and to do his chores. His guitar wasn't able to be played for two weeks. For the young musician, this was the worst part of his punishment. 

Three weeks later the same boy who had provoked the fight before tried to push him into another one. He started by taunting him, saying anything he could that would irritate him enough. John Patrick just shrugged off the comments though. Finally, he'd had enough. Turning to the boy, he said, "Bite your tongue. It's waggin' like a dog's tail."

The boy turned red, but before he could say anything else, the teacher ordered them both to be silent. After that, he left John Patrick alone.

*******

"John Patrick, get out of that bed," his father demanded one morning. "We need to be getting to church."

"I'm not going," the young boy replied, pulling the blanket up farther over his head. 

"And may I ask ye why not?" Seamus asked as he walked into his son's room.

"That pompous, old . . ." He was interrupted by his father sharply clearing his throat. "Father Bradley said not to come back, so I'll not be going back," he told his father with a stubborn note in his voice.

Seamus stared at the blanket-covered form of his son for a moment, then walked over to him and jerked off his cover. "Get out of that bed now."

"No, Da. I am not going." He paused for a second between each word to give them emphasis. 

Seeing the stubborn set to his son's jaw, he knew it was pointless to argue. With time, he would change his mind. At least, that was what his father hoped. 

*******

Five years later, John Patrick still refused to return to church. His father had finally given up on trying to force him to go. The boy hadn't told him everything that the priest had said, but he decided it must have been enough. He turned to his music whenever the haunted look came to his face.

The spring of that year, Christopher returned from four years away at school. Their mother, Molly, frowned with worry when she saw him ride up to the house on a motorcycle. He jumped off of it and walked to the door. Stepping through it, he looked around the room. His brothers were all sitting at the table. John Patrick was working on a song he was trying to write. Being extremely absorbed in it, he didn't notice Christopher's arrival until the older boy grabbed the pen out of his hand. 

"What . . . ?" He started to exclaim before glancing up from the table. "Christopher!" He jumped up from his seat and wrapped his arms around his older brother. 

John Patrick had grown taller than everyone else in the family except for Christopher who was still several inches taller. The two of them were still close, whereas the youngest boy had drifted apart from the other two boys.

"Hey, . What's that you're writing?" He took the paper from the table and started reading. 

  
  


Ancient Love

  
  


The tale of their love

Has been told through the years.

She taught him to fight

And he took away her fears.

  
  


"Where did ye get this idea from?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. It just came to me. I wrote it without even thinking. Now I can't think of anymore though."

"You know how he is, Chris," Daniel said. "Soul mates, destiny, true love, all that romantic stuff."

Ignoring his brother, the oldest boy looked at John Patrick and said, "It reminds me of something I read. 'The Legend of Cathain' it was called. I will find it if ye would like that."

"Aye, that I would. Thank ye, Christopher."


	9. Through Dreams Revealed

Sorry, it's taken me so long to get this up. I've been busy with school stuff. 

  
  


"Through Dreams Revealed"

  
  


A man and woman were fighting in a circle of trees. Only they weren't actually battling. It felt more like practice or a training lesson. The fog seemed like it was floating up from the ground. Their swords met on each swing. The man held his own but it was the woman who was clearly in charge. 

She had on a coat of chain mail over her bare skin. Her sword was almost an extension of her arm. Brown hair was only partially restrained, while the rest of it flowed free over her shoulders. He was wearing a long shirt belted at the waist. His red hair was slightly curly, but didn't get in his face. Green eyes shone with excitement as her sword slid off of his. 

He was skilled with the sword, but not as much as she was. Even for this, he soon grew overconfident. As he let down his guard, she knocked his sword away and placed the edge of hers against his neck.

John Patrick woke with a start. He was breathing heavily like he had just finished sparring with that strange woman. The dream had been so real, he could feel the cold steel against his neck when he woke. He shook off the remnants of the dream as he swung his feet to the floor. Only the memory of the woman remained with him. 

"I must find out who she is," he muttered to himself. "I wonder if Christopher found that book yet."

Walking into the kitchen, he saw his brother sitting at the table. He looked up at him and smiled. "I found that book for ye," he said, nodding at a large, thick book sitting on the table in front of him. "It has been translated to English."

The younger boy opened it to a page near the middle. The pages were yellowed with age and worn around the edges, so he handled them carefully. He started to read it aloud, "The sea god's daughter, Cathain, was stronger than any man in battle. Yet she lived alone in far Connemara and fought off all who dared approach." Turning the page, he continued to read. "At last, the crown prince, Conchobar, persuaded her to teach him in the ways of the sword and the bow. And nightly, he tutored her in the arts of love. When at last, he ascended the throne, Conchobar begged Cathain to lead his armies. And for love she agreed, vanquishing all and uniting one kingdom." He had become so engrossed in the story that he didn't realize the rest of the family had gathered around the table. That is, until his mother placed a plate of food in front of him. He closed the book and pushed it to the middle of the table. Then, John Patrick picked up his fork and started eating.

*******

A few weeks later, Daniel cleared his throat once they had finished eating. When he had everyone's attention, he announced, "I have decided to go to Downpatrick to study for the priesthood."

"Are ye sure ye have to go away?" His father asked once he got over the initial surprise of the announcement.

"Aye, Da. I am sure that this is what I must do."

The old man nodded and said, "Then you have my approval."

*******

A month after Daniel left, the Dougherty family woke one morning to find that Edward was gone as well. There was no note saying where he was. Some clothes were missing and his shoes and jacket weren't anywhere in the house. His bed was made and hadn't been slept in the night before. The open window was letting in a cold morning breeze. The floor below the window was damp from the light rain that had been coming down all night.

Seamus contacted the garda station in Ardglass, and they arrived fifteen minutes later. After looking around, the officer in charge asked, "When did you see him last?"

"Last night before we went to bed," Seamus answered.

"Has he been acting strange lately?"

John Patrick snorted and asked, "Lately? He always..." but he stopped when his father looked sharply at him. His eyes went to the floor, and he shifted from one foot to the other. After a few minutes, he thought of something and started to speak up, but his mother stopped him.

"He is speaking with the officer. Don't bother him now."

"But, Ma, it's important."

"It can wait."

John Patrick's lower lip moved out into a pout, and he turned back toward his room. When he heard the door close, the boy walked back out to the kitchen. His father looked up at him and said, "Your ma was saying you had something you wanted to tell me."

"Edward has been talking about joining the Irish Republican Army. Could that be where he's gone?"

They all looked at him with expressions of shock. No one realized he had been aware of what was going on around him. He always seemed so preoccupied with his music. Once his father had recovered, he asked, "Why would he do something like that?" He didn't want to admit that his son might be right. 

"Da, ye know that he had been wanting to do something. This is the only way he sees."

Seamus hung his head and closed his eyes. When he looked up again, his eyes met those of his son's. "You are right, I know. I just wish ye weren't."

*******

"John Patrick, what are ye going to do?" Seamus asked his son one day when the young man was playing his guitar. 

"What do ye mean, Da?"

"With your life. Ye cannot just stay here and play that guitar for the rest of your life."

"What else can I do? I'm not as smart as Christopher. I'm not dedicated to the Lord or a cause like Daniel and Edward. All I do is play and sing."

"Well, why don't ye find someone who'll pay ye to do just that."

John Patrick thought for a moment, then looked up at his father with eyes that seemed older than his eighteen years. "I'm a bard, Da. I tell stories with me songs. They would not understand that. They'd want me to sing nonsense to make them money."

"There has to be something."

"I do not know, Da."

His attention returned to his guitar. Seeing that he wasn't going to get anywhere with this argument, Seamus left the room. After awhile, John Patrick put the instrument down on the floor and walked into his room. The book Christopher had found for him was sitting on his bed. With nothing else to do, he opened it and started reading. 

"When the world turned her lover's heart away, Cathain returned to Connemara. Then, dark rivals rose against the king. King Conchobar could not hope to keep the throne without Cathain's skill in battle, so he sent a druid to summon her back. The druid first sacrificed an old woman to the goddess, but Cathain was unmoved. Next, the druid sacrificed Cathain's own sister, the fair, vain Deirdre. And he slew her twice. Strangling her with a silken cord, then stabbing her with a dagger of stone. Still, Cathain would not return to fight." He turned the page and continued to read, enchanted by the story. "Then, the druid brought the fair Iona, pure and sweet. By the corlach's hungry stone, the innocent was slain."

"So, they didn't all live happily ever after, then." 

John Patrick jumped at the sound of the hard, bitter voice behind him. He spun around, and his mouth fell open at the sight of his brother. Over the past two years, Edward's light brown hair that he had always kept neat had become long and straggly. He had at least a month's growth of beard on his chin as well. 

"So, ye decided to return, did ye, Edward?"

The older brother shook his head. "Only for a short time. Then, I must be leaving."

The rest of the family crowded into his small room. They all hugged Edward, and his mother planted a kiss on his cheek. Then, they moved into the kitchen to eat dinner. 

*******

The next morning, the Dougherty family drove into Downpatrick to visit Daniel. The six of them walked along the street as Edward told him about what he had been doing for the last two years, leaving out the things he didn't want them to know. Just as he had finished recounting the tales, a tourist approached them. "Excuse me. Could I take your picture?" He asked. "I only have one more exposure on this roll of film and would like to use it up."

Seamus smiled obligingly at him. "Aye, I believe we could do that."

The four boys lined up in the back. Christopher stood on the right with John Patrick beside him. Next to him was Edward, and Daniel stood on the left. Seamus stood in front of Christopher and John Patrick, while their mother was before the other two. Daniel placed his hand on his mother's shoulder, and Edward leaned toward his younger brother.

As soon as the camera flashed, the tourist thanked them then walked away. The six of them made their way back to Daniel's place.

*******

John Patrick was sitting at the table on day when he heard a knock on the door. Standing up, he walked over and opened it. A young woman, probably no more than twenty-four years of age, was standing there. Her auburn hair hung more than halfway down her back. Jeni Leigh smiled at him. "Morning, John Patrick."

"Hello, Jeni. Which accent are ye goin' to speak with today?" He asked her with a smile. 

She laughed. "Nothing special today."

"Well, what are ye doin' here?"

"Nothing special," was her answer again. "Just thought I'd come to see you."

"Well, come in then."

John Patrick hadn't seen the small boy standing behind her until Jeni stepped through the door. His bright red hair stuck out in several places as if he had just gotten out of bed. Large, green eyes looked out from a pale, round face. His skinny arms seemed too long for his body. 

"So you're watching one of the wee brats again, huh?"

"Now come on, John Patrick. Willie's not that bad. No worse than you were at that age, I'm sure."

"That's not saying a whole lot, ye realize."

She chuckled at that. "You couldn't have been that bad."

"Edward says I was a little demon," he told her with a wry smile that twisted his mouth. 

"You and your brother didn't get along well?"

"Ye say that as if we do now."

Jeni was about to ask him something else when she realized that her young charge was still standing outside the door. "Willie, you can come in here."

The boy walked through the door and started to wander around the house. While he did this, John Patrick and Jeni talked. A couple of minutes later they heard a crash that came from his room. He ran in there to see what had happened. Jeni was right behind him.

"I-I am sorry, sir," the boy stammered.

"What did you do, Willie Brennan?" Jeni asked in an accusing voice.

"I was j-just looking at the book, and it f-fell."

They looked at the floor and saw the large, heavy book laying open on the floor. John Patrick stepped forward, picked up the book, and placed it back on the table beside his bed. 

"We should be going now," Jeni said. "His parents will be back soon."

He nodded his head and walked outside with them. They started down the road, and she turned to wave before continuing out of sight.

*******

"Christopher, could I ride with ye?" John Patrick asked as his older brother was getting on his motorcycle. "I need to see someone."

"Not this time. I will be gone for some time. Da can probably take ye though."

The younger man's head dropped with disappointment. He always looked forward to taking a ride with his brother, no matter what the excuse he gave was. "I suppose it can wait then."

A feeling of dread settled on his shoulders as he watched his brother ride off down the road. Walking into the house, he closed the door behind him. He caught the sight of his guitar leaning against the wall out of the corner of his eye. Picking it up, he walked outside and sat on the doorstep. As he started to pick at the strings, a song he had written several months ago came back to him. He began to sing it as he found the notes on the instrument. 

  
  


Where in the world have I been

I must have tripped on the way in.

Diving into the shallow end,

I must have gone and broke the skin.

  
  


Hold me close

And let me know

I'm not alone for once.

Hold me close

And tell me

That I never really was.

  
  


Why on the earth

Could I not see

The cloud a hangin' over me.

But I did a dance to make it rain

And it just overflowed the drains.

  
  


Hold me close 

And let me know

I'm not alone for once.

Hold me close

And tell me

That I never really was.*

  
  


After awhile, he walked inside and placed his guitar against the wall beside his bedroom door. Then, he dropped onto his bed and closed his eyes. He opened them again quite some time later when he heard the phone ring in the kitchen. He heard his father's muffled voice, then a click as it was returned to the receiver. 

John Patrick swung his feet to the floor and walked to his bedroom door. Seamus had his arms around his wife as tears left wet tracks down her cheeks. He took the few steps needed to get to the kitchen and asked, "What is wrong? Who was that?"

The old man looked at his son and replied, "It was the captain from the garda station in Ardglass."

The feeling of dread from earlier returned to the young man at that moment. "What has happened, Da?"

"Christopher was riding his motorcycle down the road, and a car hit him from the side, then drove away. They found him laying on the other side of the road."

John Patrick's eyes went wide and round with fear for his brother. "Where is he? Is he all right?"

Seamus shook his head from side to side. "They say he probably died instantly."

"No," he said quietly. "Christopher's not dead. I just saw him this morning."

"I'm sorry, son," he said as the tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

He backed into his room while shaking his head and muttered to himself, "He's not dead. He's not."

*******

The next day John Patrick was still in his room when the sun was high in the sky. His parents had gone into town to claim the body the night before and had stayed there overnight. He heard a light knock on the door, but didn't even have the energy to go open it. A moment later he heard it open through his closed bedroom door. 

He waited while the visitor walked through the kitchen, then slowly opened his door. "John Patrick?" A soft feminine voice questioned from the other side of the now open doorway. 

"What?" He asked, not even forcing his eyes to open.

"I heard about Chris," Jeni told him. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

His eyes opened, and she could see his pain through them. Her gaze moved to the floor before she said, "You can talk to me anytime you want."

He just nodded his head, then turned his back to her. Hearing her retreating footsteps, he realized he had released his hurt and anger on her and turned around again. "Jeni, wait," he said, stopping her. 

"What is it?"

"I am sorry. It is just."

She interrupted him by saying, "Don't worry. I understand that you're hurt. You don't have to explain yourself to me." She had made her way over to his bed and took his hands in hers. "I'm here if you want to talk."

A feeling whose origin he wasn't sure of came upon him suddenly, causing him to pull her closer. Her hands moved around his head and through his hair. His connected behind her back, and he pulled her up against him. She lifted her head and kissed his lips. Then, her lips brushed across his warm skin. She could feel his body start to shake, but knew he wasn't crying. He wouldn't let anyone see him do that. Jeni wrapped her arms around him, holding and comforting him. A few minutes later he pulled away and smiled sadly at her. "I am sorry."

She stopped him. "Don't apologize. You have no reason to."

Jeni gave him one final hug and a quick kiss before leaving.

*******

Everyone was gathered in the Dougherty's house for Christopher's wake. They had all offered their condolences and were now consuming the food and drink. After only an hour, John Patrick had drank four pints. Edward came over to him as he was about to get another and placed his hand on his younger brother's shoulder, who promptly jerked it away. "Maybe ye should stop now, Johnny."

"Why?" He asked bitterly. "Just because ye took the pledge, does not mean I must as well."

Edward's look of despair did nothing to change John Patrick's mind. Another hour later, he had consumed more alcohol than at any other time in his life. He was leading the group in a song.

  
  


I wish I was in Carrick Fergus.

Only four nights in Ballygrand.

I would swim over the deepest ocean

The deepest ocean, to be by your side.

Well, I'm drunk today, and I'm seldom sober.

A handsome rover from town to town.

But I am sick now. My days are numbered.

So, come all ye young men and lay me down.

So, come all ye young men and lay me down.

  
  


He staggered out of the house and down to the water's edge. Once there, he fell to his knees. Letting the sound of the water lapping against shore take him away from where he was, John Patrick felt his body relax. He soon fell asleep face down in the grass.

The sun was beginning to set when he finally woke. He pushed himself up and blinked several times. It took a few minutes before everything around him stopped spinning and settled into one image. Then, he slowly got to his feet and returned to the house, stumbling the whole way. 

  
  


* "The Shallow End" by Grant Lee Buffalo


	10. Plans Revised

Sorry this has taken so long. I've been busy with other things and didn't have time to finish it until this week. This will be the last one until next season most likely.

"Plans Revised"  
  


"John Patrick, why don't you come with me?" Jeni pleaded with him.

"I told ye. I do not want to leave. I will stay here and sing."

"But you could come to the states with me and sing there."

"Why leave me family to do what I'd be doin' here?"

"You could find someone to pay you there."

"So I could sing nonsense for them. No. I tell stories, Jeni."

"You could still do that. You could find someplace that would pay you for gigs and let you sing what you want."

"Jeni, ye don't understand. I can't leave."

She sighed in frustration and turned to leave. "I'm leaving Wednesday," she called over her shoulder. "Stubborn man," she muttered to herself as she walked out of the door.

*******

One night a few weeks after Jeni had left, John Patrick was sitting at the table while his parents were watching television. They turned the volume up as a news report came on the channel. "This afternoon there was an attack by a group of IRA terrorists in the city of Belfast," the news announcer began. "Twenty car bombs were detonated in less than fifteen hours. Thirty-three people are now dead and more injured. This man, Edward Dougherty, is believed to be responsible for this act."

John Patrick's head jerked up in time to see his brother's picture flash across the screen. His parents were staring in shocked horror at the television. "That can't be true," he mother said. "Edward wouldn't do that."

Both Seamus and his son knew that what she sais wasn't true, no matter how much they all wanted to believe it. They knew that he was perfectly capable of the act he was suspected of committing. The old man turned the television off before they could hear anymore. John Patrick turned back to what he was working on, but couldn't keep his mind on it. After twenty minutes, he finally gave up on it for the moment and stood up to take a walk. 

Stepping outside, he took a deep breath of the fresh air. Then, he started down toward the water. When he reached it, he walked along the shore until he came to where the ground rose high above the water. He sank onto the grass and stared out over the water. Remembering back to when they were younger, John Patrick realized Edward had always been headed down this path. He'd always been passionate about "his cause." "It must be his destiny," he said to himself. 

He sat there contemplating things for awhile longer before heading back to the house. When he walked inside, Edward was sitting at the table. Seamus was standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. His wife's eyes and face were red and puffy from crying. The younger man walked over to his brother and demanded, "Did ye do it?"

His mother tried to stop him. "John Patrick, can't ye see he's tired and hungry?"

Neither of her sons seemed to hear her. They were too busy having a private, silent battle. Finally the older one said, "It can't be proven."

His younger brother wasn't to be put off that easily. "Did ye do it?" He repeated his question. 

Edward refused to even look at him, let alone answer the question. John Patrick stormed into his room and slammed the door. He noticed the latest letter from Jeni sitting on his bed. He picked it up and began to reread it.

Dear John Patrick,

I am glad to hear that you are doing fine. Everything is well here.  
  


"Too bad things aren't fine now," he growled.  
  


I still wish you'd change your mind and come here. But I know you'll do what you must. To let you know, I am now living in South Dakota.   
  


He dropped the paper on the floor, knowing the rest by heart. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed a suitcase out of his closet and started throwing clothes into it, then he grabbed his guitar and what money he had. When he had finished that, he walked back into the kitchen, placing his suitcase and guitar on the floor by the door.

"Where are ye going?" His mother asked with concern.

"Away from all this," was all he would say.

"Where will ye go?" His father asked.

"To America," he replied, finally making the decision.

Edward looked up from the table and there was a sneer on his face. "So, you're gonna run away to America? Think you'll leave it all behind. Ye can't run far enough."

John Patrick clenched his jaw, then, remembering the Gaelic he had learned, said, "Is fear rith maith na drochsheasamh." A good run is better than a bad stand. He turned to his parents and said, "Slan agat. Fad saol agat."

He picked up his suitcase and guitar. Then, without even a glance back, he walked away.

******* 

The first hint of morning was beginning to appear over the horizon when John Patrick finally reached the airport. He had slept uncomfortably beside the road for a few hours, but this had not been enough to keep him wide awake and alert. He stumbled into the terminal and up to the desk where the clerk looked at him suspiciously. 

"I need a ticket for New York," he said after glancing at the sign listing departures. 

"Are ye drunk, sir?" She asked, noticing his bloodshot eyes and the slight slur of his words. 

He shook his head, but his exhaustion caused this movement to give the effect of a spinning room. Reaching out a hand, he grabbed the edge of the counter to gain some balance. His feet were sore and tired, and his head was throbbing with pain from weariness. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. Sliding it across the counter, he said, "I've walked here from Ardglass and am dead tired. Could I please just be havin' the ticket."

She counted the money, then handed the ticket over to him, still not trusting him because of the way he looked. He made his way over to a bench, slumped down onto it against the wall, closed his eyes, and was instantly asleep. The next thing he knew, he was being awakened by the announcement, "The flight for New York will be departing within the hour. All passengers please make your way to gate C."

He stood up slowly and made his way to the designated gate. On the plane, he found a window seat and sat down in it. Minutes later a young man sat beside him. Trying to start a conversation, he asked with a distinctly American accent, "Who are you?"

"Just a ramblin' Irishman." As the words escaped from his mouth, the lyrics to an old song came back to him. He whispered them to himself as they crossed his mind. "I am a ramblin' Irishman. In Ulster I was born...But to be poor I could not endure, like others of my station. To America, we sailed our way and left this Irish nation."

The American just stared at him for a second, then turned his attention elsewhere. John Patrick closed his eyes and slept until the plane landed on the other side of the ocean.

*******

John Patrick sat at the table in the small restaurant counting out the small amount of money he had left. "Twenty, thirty, forty, forty-five, fifty. Only fifty dollars. Cain't last long with this." He had traded in his native currency for American dollars. Now, he needed to find a way to get his hands on more.

After ordering and eating a small meal, he left and wandered the streets. He had only walked a few blocks when he spotted a bar. He considered walking on past it for a moment, then changed his mind and strode inside. Walking up to the bar, he motioned to the bartender.

"What'll you have?" The other man asked when he reached him.

"A pint if ye please."

The bartender just stared at him for a second, then asked, "How long have you been here, son?"

"I just arrived a couple of days ago."

"Well, there's a pub down the street that sells what you want. Maybe you should go there."

"Thank ye," he said nodding his head at him.

John Patrick walked down the street until he came to a pub that he was pretty sure was the one the bartender had been talking about. He once again asked for a pint upon reaching the long, wooden bar, and there was instantly a tall glass of dark brown liquid placed in front of him. He nodded his thanks, then took a sip of his drink.

When he had finished, he stood up to leave. On his way to the door, a drunk staggered across his path and nearly fell into him. 

"Excuse me," he said, wanting to leave even though he was in no hurry to get anywhere. He didn't have anywhere to go. 

The man leered up at him through glazed eyes. His breath smelled strongly of alcohol as he said, "What're ya doin' 'ere, mick?" His words were slurred together and barely coherent. "We don't need yer kind 'ere."

"And what kind would that be, sir?" He asked, saying the last word with a sharp bite of sarcasm.

"Ya mus' either be a drunk or a terroris', Paddy," the drunk informed him. 

Like ye have much room to be talkin', he thought to himself, but just said, "I am neither."My brother is the terrorist. "Now, if ye will please get out of me way."

The drunk put his finger against John Patrick's chest and poked him. 

"I was leavin'. If ye are in me way, I cain't do that."

"You can get out of my way," he sneered. 

Just then a younger man stormed over to them. He was an exact copy of the older man and was only slightly less drunk than his father. He had the same belligerent sneer on his face though. "What do you want?" He asked.

"Just to be leavin'," was his reply.

"Then why don't you do that, instead of harassing my dad."

John Patrick's temper was beginning to rise at the attitude of these two men. "He's the one harassin' me. Your da started this. Maybe ye should be talkin' to him about leavin' me be."

"You don't know what you're talkin' 'bout," the older man sneered at him. 

"Aye, I do," he said as he started to push his way past the two men. 

"Where do ya think you're goin'?" The belligerent young man demanded of him.

"Home," he said, which made him laugh inwardly. Home was an abandoned building that only kept him out of the rain. At night, he laid shivering on the cold floor until sleep overcame him. There was no light except what came through the dirty and broken windows. Home wasn't exactly the word for it.

"Not until we settle this."

"There is nothin' to settle."

As he started forward again, the young man threw a punch at his jaw. It connected solidly, but only stunned him, not knocking him down. He lunged forward and grabbed the man's arms, trying to restrain him. His attacker kicked his leg and managed to draw away as John Patrick was recovering from the blow. Then, the Irishman moved in and jabbed to his mouth with one fist while the other connected with the man's stomach. The drunken man grunted in pain, and his father came up behind John Patrick, breaking a bottle over his head.

He fell to his knees, stunned for a second, then shook his head and managed to get his feet under him again. He turned to the father, and his look sent the old drunk staggering backward. Then, he turned around and backed his aggressor against the bar where he hit him once in the nose, then once more in the stomach. He held him there until the bouncer came over. Once he had thrown the two men out of the bar, he returned to where John Patrick was standing, holding a hand to the back of his head. 

"Saw how you handled those men. Not too bad. You looking for a job?"

"No," he said, then after a moment, changed his mind. "Actually I am. But I was plannin' on getting one singing."

"You're a singer?"

"Aye. Usually just what I write."

"I do believe the boss is looking for an act to play here. I'll tell him about you and see what he says."

"Thank ye, sir."

As he was turning away, the man's voice came from behind him. "Do you have a place to stay?"

He turned around again and was about to say yes, then stopped and shook his head. "No. I've been stayin' in an abandoned building. I have no job and no money." This last was said in a matter-of-fact tone, not as a way to get pity.

"If you'll wait 'til I'm done here, I'll take you to my place, and you can stay there until you get on your feet."

He thought about the offer for a moment, and nodded his head. "Thanks."

"It's not a problem."

John Patrick walked to the bar and bought a drink while he waited for his new friend to get off from work. After two more drinks, he had forgotten about the throbbing pain in his shin and at the back of his head. He didn't even notice that blood was slowly sliding down and parting his hair in the back. Once he had downed a few more, he saw his friend motion to him. Jumping off of the stool, he nearly fell flat on his face. He swayed on his feet, but managed to walk to the door without falling. 

His new friend, Patrick Bentley, helped him out to his car, then he drove to his apartment. When he got him upstairs, he saw the dried trail of blood that had made it's way down the back on John Patrick's skull. "And I thought you were just drunk," he said with a chuckle as the other man staggered into a chair.

He washed the blood from the back of his friend's head, then placed a bandage over the cut. "You can sleep on the couch," he told him. "I'll be right in there." He pointed to a doorway on the right side of the room. 

He laid on the couch, closed his eyes, and fell into a restless sleep. When he woke up the next day, Patrick was pulling the shades over the window. He slowly sat up and blinked a few times until began to become aware of his surroundings. As he started to stand, it felt as if someone was using his head as a spinning top. He put it in his hands and waited for everything to be still again. 

He was still standing there when Patrick walked over to him with a cup of coffee in his hands. "Here, drink this," he said, holding it out to him. "It might help you feel a bit better."

He took it as his mouth opened to say something. It was so dry, however, that his "thanks" only came out as a croak. His head felt like it was about to burst open at any moment. The coffee felt soothing as it slid down his parched throat.

His friend was saying something to him, but the pounding in his ears was drowning out the sound of the words. "John?"

He slowly shook his head to clear it, then looked at his friend with a question in his eyes.

"I was saying that I have to work tonight. We can go get your things from that building before that though. Then, you can come with me, and I'll introduce you to my boss."

He just nodded his head and said, "Thank ye. I am grateful for all ye've done."

He shook his head. "Don't even think about it. I'm glad to be able to help you."

*******

That night John Patrick walked into the pub behind Patrick. They made their way to the door of a back room where the American knocked. A deep voice gave him permission to enter. When they walked into the room, John Patrick saw a tall man sitting behind a very well-organized desk. He smiled when he saw his employee. "What is it, Patrick? And who is your friend there?"

"This is John Patrick Dougherty. He's a singer, so I thought he might be the solution to your problem."

His boss nodded before turning his attention from his employee. "You're a singer?"

"Aye, sir."

"What do you sing?"

"Mostly what I write."

The other man nodded, then said, "I see you have your guitar with you. Would you mind playing for me, so I can know what you sound like?"

"Not at all," he replied as he opened his case and took the guitar from it. He plucked at the strings, then started to sing.  
  


How can I give a testimony of my life

When I'm still trying to hold my head up high.

I'm trying so hard to hold my head up high.  
  


But every time I turn around

I feel as though I've let ya down

Always something else

Every time I turn around

Feel as though I've let ya down

But I can't outrun myself.  
  


How can I give a testimony of my time

When it's so hard to pen a simple valentine

It weighs a little heavy on my mind.  
  


But every time I turn around

I feel as though I've let ya down.

Always something else.

Every time I turn around

Fell as though I've let ya down.

But I can't outrun myself.  
  


Oh, you know...

If I told ya once I told ya loads before

I couldn't love ya more.  
  


When he was finished, John Patrick looked up at the man behind the desk. There was a thoughtful expression on his face as he kept the musician waiting. Finally, he nodded his head and said, "I believe I have found what I'm looking for."

A wide smile broke across John Patrick's face as he held out his hand to him. "Thank ye, sir. I am grateful."

"No, I am the one who is grateful. You can start Friday night."

They left the office and Patrick congratulated him. "I have to work. You can either stay here or walk home." He had a feeling he knew what his friend would choose and smiled to himself as John Patrick headed to the bar. 

A half hour later, he walked over to Patrick and told him, "I'll be headin' home now."

"All right, John. My cousin is coming from out west. Don't be surprised if she's there or shows up sometime tonight."

When John Patrick arrived home, he opened the door and was shocked at who he saw sitting on the couch. After a moment, he closed his mouth which had fallen open and stepped inside. Closing the door behind him, he took another step forward and said in a hushed voice, "Jeni."

Her head whipped around and it took her a moment to realize who he was. When she finally did, she jumped up from where she was sitting and asked in a startled voice, "John Patrick, what are you doing here?"

"I live here now. I'm guessin' ye are Patrick's cousin."

"Yeah. He said he had a friend staying with him, but not who it was."

They came together, wrapping their arms around each other. When they pulled away, John Patrick smiled at her. "I have missed you."

They sat on the couch and talked until the early hours of the morning. The two of them were surprised when they heard the door open, not realizing so much time had passed. Patrick saw his cousin, and a smile broke across his face. 

"I wish you would've told me your friend was someone I knew. I wouldn't have been so surprised when I saw him again."

"You know John? How?"

"We met a few years ago when I was in Ireland."

"That's right. I forgot you'd been over there. After a moment, he said, "I'm gonna crash now. See you two in the morning. Glad you were able to come, Jeni."

They waited until he had left the room, then continued their conversation. John Patrick finally went to bed when the sun decided to make its appearance over the horizon.

*******

When John Patrick arrived at the pub Friday night, his new boss was waiting for him. "You ready?"

"Always have been," he replied with a confident smile.

"You still want to use that name, Conchobar."

He just nodded his head, cringing inwardly at the mispronunciation of the name, but not wanting to correct him.

"All right. You'll go on in about fifteen minutes."

When he was finished that night, his boss payed him, and he headed to the bar for a drink. Jeni was waiting for him when he got home. "So, how'd your first night go?" She asked him.

"Not too bad," he replied, showing her the money he had made. 

They sat on the couch, each with a drink in hand. After awhile, Jeni cleared her throat and said, "I'm leaving in a few days."

"Already? You've only been here for a couple of days." He knew she wouldn't be staying for a long time, but was hoping it would be longer than this.

"I know, but I have to get back home."

"I understand."

*******

After nearly a year, John Patrick had made enough money to get his own apartment. Another three years later he had gained quite a bit of popularity. His shows sold out on word of mouth alone, and there was usually standing room only. He had been offered record contracts, but always turned them down. That wasn't what he wanted. All he wanted to do was sing his songs, and he was doing that. 

One night he was leaving his apartment for work when his phone rang. Picking it up, he answered, "Hello."

"John Patrick."

"Daniel! How have ye been?"

"Fine. Ma's been wonderin' about ye."

"I'm doing fine. Tell her that for me. Tell her not to worry."

"I will, but I don't know how much good it'll do."

John Patrick laughed at the truth of that statement. They talked for a few more minutes, then he left for work.

That night there was a full room once again. As he made his way to the microphone, the crowd started yelling and cheering. Some even raised their glasses and bottles to him. He grinned at them and asked, "How about a new song then?"

This just made them scream even louder. The grin stayed on his face as he began to sing.

I'm in tight

With a demon called deception.

It's all right

He's a treating me quite well.

I'm in tight

With a demon called deception.

He's right beside me when I fail.

To whisper words

Like Brother, nothing here is any good

Ya see the birds, they're a dropping like a star of wormwood

And all I wanted was just a little patch of green.

We were peasants

And the cotton was our king.

In the fields

I will sing a prisoner's song

While deception whistles right along

Right along.

Charlie sang for a pocker full of pills

Where deception was a clickin his high heels

We're in tight

Playing seven one-night stands

And deception made me as I am.

As I am, As I am, As I am, As I am.

Truth is

I'm in tight

I barely saw the light

Just a it clicked in

Something saved my skin.

Something saved my skin.  
  


Finishing the song, his eyes met those of the woman who had just walked in with her young friend. She was the one he had dreamed of years before. He hardly noticed the crowd's applause as he made his way toward her.


End file.
